#then suddenly he was gone and after three decades neither of them know how to move on with the tony-shaped hole in their lives | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hajimesh · 3 years

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𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁

⥅ eren jaeger / 1.8k words

warnings. manga spoilers, fluff and angst, gender neutral reader

a/n. my entry for anilysium's collab, don't forget to check the masterlist !! thank u sm temi for the beta ♡ @thefairywalker

hope is what makes someone hold onto a promise. and that hope it's worse than the broken promise itself.

—

845.

an autumn-like breeze cooled down the summer afternoon, and with the sky barren of any clouds, it was easier for the sun rays to land on those familiar blond strands.

"over there!"

eren's small hand—even though it was big enough to cover yours—wrapped around your wrist before it tugged you through the crowd. your rapid breaths were all you could hear while you mentally prayed to make it on time, just a couple more steps and you would be within reach, already staring at armin’s frightened face which caused your heart to jump. but what finally managed to send you in a state of despair was the sight of eren shoving the bigger kid away.

“what do you think you’re doing, yeager?!”

“are you hurt?” tears gathered at the corners of your eyes while you helped armin up on his feet, you didn’t have to turn around to know eren had received a punch, his pained wail making you flinch.

armin took your hand and together faced the scene before your eyes, holding onto each other's hands while tears dampened your cheeks.

“leave him alone!” the tremble in your voice was obvious, even after multiple fights with those kids it always ended up the same way. armin and you crying in fear for eren and mikasa's safety.

only this time mikasa was nowhere to be seen.

“shut up!”

“don’t talk to them like that!” with a kick on the shin, eren managed to keep the bully out of commission for a few seconds. but that was enough for your saviour to arrive.

“leave before i call the garrison.”

relief began to relax your tense stance, you all knew that it wasn’t the moment to be wasting their time in a kid’s fight, the shortage of food seemed to worsen each day and keeping the people on a tight leash became harder as the days went by.

the kid seemed to finally realize he wouldn't win this time, so with a scoff he took a couple of steps back, "this isn't over," his annoyed gaze traveled from eren to you, "and try not to piss your pants next time."

the three of you watched him run away while the rush of adrenaline began to wear out on your bodies and gave in to the tiredness. had mikasa not intervened, the outcome would've been way worse.

"hey," eren was the first one to break the silence, turning towards you and landing a hand on your shoulder. unfortunately, the softness in his voice was your catalyst and soon you allowed the distress to overcome you, "oh no, don't cry!"

it was useless to try to get your tears to stop, falling one after another as your chest racked with broken sobs, "i-i'm sorry i couldn't be o-of help!"

armin watched in worry as eren tried and failed to get you to calm down. he could tell you were scared when you confronted the bully, your hold on his hand so tight he feared you would end up hurting yourselves. but even so, you had pulled through your fear and stood your ground, something he admired from you.

with a tug on your shirt, mikasa signaled you to start walking, her impassive yet reassuring gaze letting you know she was there for you.

"let's go home."

—

the warm steam that blew onto your blotchy face felt soothing, the taste of mrs. yeager's freshly brewed tea successfully relaxing the tightness in your chest as it ran down your throat.

you could already feel the tiredness hitting you all at once, begging you to lie down and close your eyes so you could rest your mind after the afternoon's occurrences. but with eren's eyes observing you, you knew you weren't off the hook yet.

"better?"

not trusting your voice, you hummed and smiled behind the cup resting on your lips, sniffling slightly when a flashback of eren being punched on the face appeared on your mind.

however, he didn't seem to be done with the topic.

"why did you stand up to him if you were so scared? you were lucky he didn't go for you."

"'cause i didn't want him to keep punching you."

"i don't need your help," his tone gave you the wrong impression. were you bothering him? a frown pulled your lips in a wobbly pout but he was quick to realize his error, "i mean, we should focus on armin, right? he's the one always in trouble."

you rocked your feet back and forth, watching them dangle from the chair as you mulled over his words. he wasn't lying, it was armin who often ended up as the victim of those bullies. at least when neither of you were around to aid him.

"i have a plan!" eren suddenly perked up, eyes brimming with excitement and pride as he obviously found his plan a good one, "dad always says that it's his duty to protect mom because they're married. so, if we get married, i can protect you and we can protect armin—together!"

you couldn't help but gasp, "married?! but we are too little!"

"not now, dummy. when we grow up!"

"what if i cry again and can't protect armin?" you voiced out your biggest worry as you pushed the cup away and made room on the table for your arm, resting your chin on top of it after yawning.

"i'll protect all of us," he didn't even hesitate, “and we have mikasa too.”

the silly promise made so much sense to your 10-year-old brain, which is why you held onto the hope and safety it gave you and agreed.

carla yeager squealed the news to her husband once eren and you had fallen asleep.

—

850.

there wasn't a day where you didn't regret not going with them.

the lively days soon became dull without eren and armin’s excited voices as they discussed the fire and icy lands in armin’s book, mikasa’s reassuring presence gone as well. but you knew you wouldn’t make it through the strenuous military training—or at least that was what you had told yourself.

truthfully, you wondered how were they not scared of continuing with their suicide mission of joining the legion, all those sacrifices just to see what was outside the walls. why couldn’t they be happy with what you already had? it wasn’t much, but you had each other, which was more than what most people could say.

with shiganshina gone, you became one of the refugees that lurked in the streets of trost. the conditions to live growing harsher, food and shelter becoming escarse and a luxury, but eren’s promise gave you enough strength to go on with your days until you landed a job as a waitress at a pub.

you missed them, all of them.

their names flew from the mouths of the military police and other higher ups that passed by, making you wonder what they were up to. however, when news spread about eren’s abilities to shift into one of those creatures, that old sense of worry shook you to your very core.

was he hurt? mikasa wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on him, but what if they separated them?

multiple scenarios ran through your head, many of them not so pleasing and only worsening your nerves. but if their names kept coming up in the authorities’ conversations after each and every mission, then it meant they were still alive.

unfortunately, all you could do was pray for their well-being and silently beg them to return.

—

854.

after years of not hearing his voice, it took you several seconds to recognize it.

“where– where are we? why–”

“you’ve changed,” his tone was soft yet hints of curiosity sept through as he marveled at you, “you look older..." prettier, he wanted to say.

having spent so many years without the intensity of his gaze, you realized you had grown unused to it, “you’ve changed too.”

it seemed like everyone had disappeared, except for you and him. dunes of fine sand slithered under your feet and a bright light illuminated the starry sky, converging by the horizon and causing his green eyes to shine in a way you had never seen before.

“eren… what’s all this?”

one moment you were surrounded by chaos, people screaming while an army of colossal titans walked south and eren declared war against the rest of the world; and the next it all had gone quiet, a man—eren—standing next to you while holding your hand.

"they will pay, and then we will be free," his thumb rubbed the skin on the back of your hand gently.

you caught the way his gaze hardened for a second, rage clear in his features but what confused you the most was the amount of hurt swirling in his eyes.

what did he mean by 'they'? you were aware of marley's feelings towards the eldians but was it truly that bad? there were so many questions you wanted to ask, but something told you that you didn’t have enough time so you chose to stick to the most important ones.

“how's mikasa? armin... is it true? he’s the colossal now?”

eren pulled you closer to him by tugging on your hand, cradling the side of your face with his free hand as a smile took over his lips.

"mikasa's busy kicking everyone's asses," he joked and you couldn't help but laugh, relieved at the sudden lightness in his voice. your eyes closed briefly when he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, licking his lips before continuing, "armin... yeah, he's the colossal. looks like i need to find another excuse to marry you, hm?”

you found it unfair how after almost a decade, he could still hold such a power over your heart, the butterflies in your stomach feeling worse than what you recalled.

“you remember?”

he didn't miss the hope in your tone, his own heart aching at the thought of you assuming he had forgotten about your existence. there wasn't a day where he hadn't wondered about your well-being, were you safe? had a titan stole your life just like they had done with his mom? it was armin and mikasa who consoled him whenever the intrusive thoughts became too much to his already stressed mind.

“i never forgot.”

it was subtle, the way that kids promise evolved into a lifetime vow—but neither of you minded.

“i need you to promise me one more thing," he murmured, his breath fanning over your lips while your own faltered at his proximity.

“you’re leaving again,” it wasn't a question.

“i have to.”

it pained him to no end, but it had to be done. the warmth of his lips touched your forehead, your cheeks, and lips; staying longer on the latter while your hearts synchronized for a moment, sharing years worth of affection.

"stay here, on the island. find somewhere safe to stay until it all ends.”

a mere murmur on your lips, that was all it took to harm your hopeful soul.

"and don't wait for me."

#eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren x reader #eren fluff #eren angst #eren yeager #i missed writing angst hehe #eren.c

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stiltonbasket · 3 years

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[soulmate au! prompt] Lan Wangjis reaction to hearing his soulmate laugh for the first time in 16+ years after wwx is resurrected

“Wangji! Wangji, wake up, look at your Huan-da--daifu, what’s the matter with him?”

His brother was beside him, shouting into Lan Wangji’s ears while the thick, cloying scent of battle gore seeped into his nose; but for once in his nineteen years, Lan Wangji could not find the strength to answer him. His spirit was nothing but an open wound, forever rent in two by the blow of his zhiyin’s demise--and no matter how desperately Lan Xichen called, the anguish in his voice could not match the bone-deep torment of Lan Wangji’s frayed bond, slashed to ribbons and cast asunder like a tattered war-flag left to unravel in the wind.

“Come away from him,” he hears one of the healers cry. “His soulmate is dead, Zewu-jun--it will be a wonder if he knows you at all until the shock is over!”

But the shock never faded, not entirely; and when Wei Ying reappeared at the Yiling courier station three months later, Lan Wangji cleaved to him heart and soul, almost as if he were the lost beloved whose name Lan Wangji would never have the chance to know.

When the part of his heart that once belonged to his mingding zhiren awakes for the first time in twenty years, Lan Wangji is certain he imagined it. After all, he felt his soulmate’s death as if their life was a little beating heart, being torn bodily out of his flesh so that he would perish in his absence; but he had lived on after that, and often imagined that he could feel his soulmate’s laughter despite the gaping void in the bond they left behind.

But when the laughter rings out again--insistent, wild, desperate like Lan Wangji would have been, if he ever had the chance to welcome a beloved newly returned from the grave--he leaps out of the tea-serving stall where he meant to wait for Sizhui and Jingyi (Jiang-zongzhu has already gone ahead, so determined to see his nephew win the hunt that he refuses to let the child lead his disciples on his own) and rushes up the mountain, neither knowing nor caring where he goes as he goes somewhere.

It can’t be, he thinks wildly, suddenly remembering the battlefield in Heijian where he felt his soulmate die. That feeling cannot be mistaken, not like this, and it has been half my lifetime since--

And then, as if today’s revelations have no limit whatsoever, he hears a warped, broken strain of music warbling out of a flute.

That is a terrible musician, is Lan Wangji’s first thought.

That is Wangxian, is the next.

Almost before he knows it, Lan Wangji reaches a flat, dusty turning in the road, and freezes at the sight of a thin young man standing there, playing his heart’s song on a crude bamboo dizi as if the melody had been written for him, and drawing Wen Ning away from the rest of the crowd. Lan Wangji is rooted to the spot, unable to think or move or breathe as Wen Ning leaps away amid the chaos, jumping straight past Jiang Wanyin--and Jiang Wanyin gives chase, letting out a roaring bellow and charging into the trees with the Jiang disciples at his heels, and then the man playing the flute falls to his knees and weeps.

But he is laughing through his tears, sucking in air and expelling it again as if he fears that he might suffocate, and Lan Wangji watches as his son and nephew run to his side, helping him lift his head while Jingyi fumbles in his qiankun bag for a bottle of water.

“He really is a lunatic!” Jingyi cries, clearly panicking: he most strongly resembles his Nie xiao-shushu in moments of crisis, especially when the crises involve ghosts or unquiet spirits. “Is it safe to make him drink water, Yuan-ge? Will he choke?”

“Gongzi,” Lan Sizhui says urgently, patting the man’s hand as Lan Wangji finally musters up the strength to move towards them. “Gongzi, did Jiang-zongzhu frighten you? You don’t have to worry about him, all right? You saved all our lives at Mo Manor last night, and we wouldn’t make you go with him anyway--you haven’t done any harm, even if you do cultivate the dark path!”

Cultivate the dark path--

Lan Wangji’s head is swimming. On the ground about six paces in front of him, the young man seems to be working himself up into a frenzy, letting out shouts of manic, high-pitched laughter and sobbing at the same time, and his eyes--a curious shade of grey, which Lan Wangji has only ever seen on a single beloved person--are fixed upon Sizhui’s, drinking in his every feature like a man guzzling water after nearly dying of thirst.

Wangxian.

Zhiji.

Lan Sizhui, who was first his beloved’s child before he became theirs, A-Yuan--

Vaguely, he wonders if his own heart, still registering the joy of his fated beloved after over two decades of silence, could possibly have stopped beating.

“Lan Yuan,” Lan Wangji says: loudly, and clearly, making the man crumpled in the dust shake from head to foot. “Hold Mo-gongzi upright for a moment, so I can lift him. We will bring him back to Gusu.”

Wei Ying--for this unfamiliar-looking Mo-gongzi can only be Wei Ying, to play Wangxian so earnestly and nearly cry himself sick at the knowledge that A-Yuan is alive and well--gives a little gasp in Sizhui’s arms, tearing his gaze away from him and staring at Lan Wangji, and then he makes a small, hurt sound and faints dead away onto Jingyi’s lap.

“Shufu!” Lan Jingyi howls, completely forgetting that Hanguang-jun is the correct honorific to use in public, even for him; and looking ready to faint himself, unless Lan Wangji intervenes. “Uncle, I think he’s dead!”

A sharp pang goes through his chest. “Do not say such things, A-Yi,” Lan Wangji scolds gently, rushing to Sizhui’s side and lifting Wei Ying into his embrace. “Look, he is still breathing. Now, round up your classmates and follow me. We are leaving.”

When Sizhui and Jingyi finally turn away (casting several glances over their shoulders as they go, as if afraid that their mysterious savior from Mo Manor really might die by the time they get back) Lan Wangji waits for the rogue cultivators to clear out, and then he bows his head over Wei Ying’s and cries.

You came back, he sobs to himself, taking Wei Ying’s cold hands in his and pressing them to his lips. Wei Ying--you came back to me!

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #soulmate au #my fic #HERE IT IS AT LONG LAST #*jazz hands* i just think they're neat #pls reblog guys i beg on my knees #more reblogs = more prompts rip lol #but just #they!!!!!!

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klarolinefanclub · 2 years

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Klaroline Fan Club : WinterFest

The December holidays are here! Klaroline Fan Club is excited to celebrate the winter season with a week of festive holiday-themed content featuring our favorite couple. We also want to give a warm shout-out to @klarolinesecretsanta who has hosted three years’ worth of KC winter gift exchanges. Starting Monday, you will be seeing quite a few wonderful creations from their events, along with credits to the original creator.

To kick off Klaroline Fan Club WinterFest, we have put together a rec list of some of our favorite winter-themed fics.

🤫a holiday confession by @hotbloodedhunter

She hated deception on a good day and lying to one of her closest friends could give her the strongest pangs of unease. There was no way out of this, though. What could she say? Hey, let’s get the California Rolls and, by the way, I’ve been sleeping with your brother since January.

or, a human!au in which klaus and caroline have an arrangement, but the holidays force them to face the facts.

🗝december 2020 by @mrslackles

The world is theirs but she doesn't come to his door after seeing it, nor does he show her it. They share it – once per year.

🐶first christmas by @mon-amour-eternel

Klaus and Caroline’s first holiday as a married couple is filled with family shenanigans, jealousy, and… dogs!

💝have yourself a merry little christmas by borzoi

Sitting at The Grill all by herself is not how Caroline had hoped to spend Christmas Eve. But who knows... maybe the evening brings her a little Christmas miracle after all?

❄it’s cold outside by @cupcakemolotov

A post-Christmas snowstorm leads to Klaus and Caroline reuniting under challenging circumstances: no power, a raging blizzard, and a unspoken chemistry neither had been able to act on when she emergency-crashed at his NYC apartment the summer of her Junior Internship. But with New Year's Eve around the corner, new opportunities abound.

🎁keeping up appearances by @misssophiachase

When Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes cross paths at an airport during a snow storm on Christmas Eve their initial dislike for each other turns into a mutually beneficial arrangement. But is the façade they've created hiding more than either of them are willing to admit?

💌merry christmas darling by @she-walked-away

Two years later after their tryst in the woods, it's still astounding to see what the power of one red envelope from Caroline Forbes can do to the Almighty Klaus Mikaelson.

🎄some melodious sonnet by @little-miss-sunny-daisy

There's a bottle of expensive champagne with a red ribbon tied around the neck in his hand and when Klaus holds it out to her, Caroline stutters to a stop. /or, the Grill throws a Christmas party and things kind of fall apart.

🎙the road not taken by @definedareasofuncertainty

Famous pop singer Caroline Forbes goes back to Mystic Falls for the holidays. And so does Klaus Mikaelson.

🥂this quiet company by @galvanizedfriend

Tyler is gone, Carol Lockwood is dead and Klaus has no hybrids left to restock his wine cellar for him. It's New Year's Eve, and he's suddenly lonely and regrettably sober. What he did not expect was to run into an equally dejected - and incredibly loose-tongued - Caroline Forbes at the Grill.

Or: the story of Klaus and Caroline's real first kiss, which they do not talk about.

[Canon-compliant AU. Set between 4x09 - O Come, All Ye Faithful - and 4x10]

A Note from Klaroline Fan Club

Our next theme will be Game of Throne AU’s, so please submit your recs as soon as possible!

We hope you enjoy reading these fics! Please support these writers with your comments, reviews, and kudos!

💗Klaroline Fan Club

Missing KC this time of year? Check out Fan Club’s previous fic rec lists:

Sports AU’s

All-Human High School & College AU’s

Klaroline Through the Decades

Halloween Rec List

Coffee Shop AU's

#klaroline #klaus x caroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fic rec #KC fanfic #KC fic rec #klaroline fan club recs #klaroline fan club winterfest #klaroline fan club #fan club favorites #long post

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sooibian · 3 years

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So Let's Runaway - Prologue

photocreds @tuanzie

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Fem!Reader ft. bff!Chanyeol

Genre / Themes: Fluff, mild angst, travel AU, road trip through Spain, travel buddies Chansoo!

Warnings: Themes of grief / loss, heartache, toxic relationships, strong language, i guess..

Description: An unlikely group of three comes together for the journey of a lifetime.

A/N: This fic is part of @supermwritersnet “Around the world in 31 days event”. Inspired by the Hindi movie Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. Uploading prematurely so as to stop obsessing over the prologue and get cracking on the travelogue which requires a tonne of research. Let me know if you’d like a tag on the upcoming chapter(s) due for upload on 19th July 2021.

Word Count: 3k *unedited*

____________________________

Doh Kyungsoo had dragged his feet up the endless flight of stairs seeking solitude...not drama.

A stranger, just one misstep away from a fatal fall, was the last thing he’d expected to find on the rooftop of Seoul’s Park Hyatt at three in the morning. He slipped the rooftop access key card (that he’d borrowed from the security guard in exchange for a 50,000 won bill) in the back pocket of his trousers while simultaneously dwelling on the depths of the rot of corruption. He had half a mind to turn away and forget that he’d just seen someone contemplating their existence on the ledge of a highrise but there was something about you that rooted him to the spot. Dressed in fine evening wear, you’d stretched your arms out like wings as you looked up at the vast expanse of midnight blue, the wind kissing your wild, waist length hair. From his standpoint, you looked oddly at peace.

Kyungsoo had never been an idealist or a victim of the white knight syndrome. He wasn’t one to delve into the ethical and philosophical conundrums for most things in life because to him it was all just a waste of time. Seeing you on the parapet filled him with neither sympathy nor worry. It was your life after all and with it you could do whatever you deemed fit as long as you weren’t inconveniencing others. Scratch that.

As long as you weren’t inconveniencing him.

But right now, unbeknownst to you, you were inconveniencing Seoul’s hottest financial broker, Doh Kyungsoo.

He wasn’t invisible to the hotel’s security cameras and being labelled suspect in an abetment to suicide investigation wasn't exactly what he was looking for after the day he’d had. Albeit inebriated and heavy-eyed, he could effectively calculate the logistics involved in pulling you off the ledge with the cacophony of the omnipresent Seoul traffic drowning out the sound of his footsteps.

Bracing himself for superficial bruises from the impact of falling to the right side of the precipice with the weight of an adult human pressing down on his 173 cm high frame, he took off his custom tailored blazer (that had been flown in from Vietnam especially for that evening) and folded it in half, making sure that the lapels touched. Some habits are hard to shake. He put the blazer on the ground as a makeshift floorcloth for the rest of his belongings. With his back facing you, he allowed himself a moment's peace as he loosened his tie, languidly rolled the sleeves of his pristine white dress shirt up to his elbows, freed himself off the Rolex Cellini on his left wrist, his Bottega Veneta fine leather wallet, and the cursed Tiffany Blue Box that he simply couldn’t bear to look at anymore and neatly placed them all on the blazer.

Letting out a deep exhale, he muttered curses under his breath before turning to your silhouette only to find it...gone.

Kyungsoo’s eyes narrowed and then immediately grew into large circles as he grappled with the shocking turn of events. An inexplicable heaviness bloomed in his chest and he felt sick to the stomach which, in a state of denial, he chalked up to the dubious mixture of spirits he’d downed not too long ago.

Before he could find his bearings and figure out what to do next, a light tap on his shoulder made him jump. His jaw went slack and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest to find you casually smiling at him. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to climb onto the very same ledge and scream into the void but he simply stood there, mouth agape, wanting to say a million things but he could hardly muster a peep.

Reading the confusion painted across his sharp, well defined features, you uttered an unsure, “Hi?”

“I thought you’d jumped,” he whispered, head tilted to the side, his compelling, bloodshot eyes locked with yours.

“Says someone who’s unusually jumpy,” you jested, but your expression immediately turned solemn when you caught the tremble in his right hand. “Are you on something?”

There came about a sudden shift in his aura. Hands on hips, he deadpanned, “Why? Are you with the cops?”

“No, don’t worry,” you let out a soft chuckle and he started scrambling for his things, “How long have you been standing here?”

Hastily stuffing everything into the pocket of his well fitted trousers, he muttered something along the lines of ‘Chaos. Just chaos everywhere!’

Leaning into his frame, you quipped, “What’s that?”

Alarmed and goggle-eyed, he snapped, “Nevermind,” and turned towards the exit.

“Hey! You seem to have forgotten something!” You called out after him upon finding his blazer on the ground, the silken sheen of it reflecting a myriad of citylights.

No answer.

“I wasn’t going to jump!” You yodelled childishly but the man was long gone.

Seven Hours Earlier

“Natasha -” Kyungsoo huffed.

The feather light Tiffany 1873 Blue Box in his left hand had suddenly started to feel like a giant boulder weighing down on his entire being. The sparkle of the uncut diamond reflected in his misty eyes as her uncharacteristically stoic silence left him struggling for words. He searched Natasha’s face for a hint of mischief...he so desperately wished for her to crack a sly smile and pull him in for a kiss and whisper ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’ against his lips like they do in the movies, that he’d almost started to imagine it. It had to have been some sort of an ugly prank.

What reason does she have to turn me down? he wondered.

Kyungsoo breached the uncomfortable spell of silence with a desperate plea, “Say something!” the throbbing in his head intensifying by the second.

Did these three years mean nothing to you? What did I do wrong? Do you hate the ring? Is this not the kind of proposal you wished for? Is it because I left the bathroom lights on all night? Or is it because I forgot to wish your mother on her birthday? A flurry of questions spawned in Kyungsoo’s mind only to die at the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, but I can’t do this. I just -” Natasha spoke finally. Gingerly shifting the weight of the box onto the ebony restaurant table, she slammed it shut as if the ring had been eyeing her lecherously.

Meeting Kyungsoo’s gaze almost defiantly, she declared, “Kyungsoo, I don’t think that I could be the kind of wife that would make you happy and I don’t think you could make me happy either.”

Two Weeks Later

Setting your eyes on that distinct pair of Dumbo ears, you excitedly weaved through the peak hour coffee shop crowd with an Iced Americano held firmly in one hand. Slamming the beverage down on the table, you engulfed his giant frame in a back hug and squealed, “Park Chanyeol!”

His wide eyes turned into even bigger brown circles and his mouth rounded into an ‘o’ in surprise. Grinning, he got off the uncomfortably tiny coffee shop chair and wordlessly pulled you in for what was famously known in Uni as a ‘Classic Chanyeol Hug’. You didn’t know how much you missed it until you felt your worries immediately dissipate into nothingness.

He hugged you a little tighter the moment you started to pull away before taking your hands in his and stooping down to your eye level. “Shifu, my love! You’re back in Seoul?!” Chanyeol exclaimed with all the love in the world sparking in the depths of his dark eyes.

Even after all this time, it felt as if nothing had changed….you’d suddenly been whizzed into a not-so-distant ‘Gothic architecture and coffee shops’ past in which a cotton candy haired boy, dressed in a pair of freshly ironed beige chinos and a plain white tee, smiles his sweetest smile simply at the sight of you. Chanyeol always felt like home. Funnily enough, even more so at the moment.

Giving him a good natured smile, you nodded in response, albeit cringing a little on the inside. Having been President of the martial arts club back in the days, you got stuck with an ingenious moniker “Shifu” which you clearly couldn’t shake off even after half a decade since graduation. You did a double take when your gaze veered to acknowledge the person seated opposite Chanyeol who, dressed in an ivory business suit, almost blended into the background. Just the way you could spot Chanyeol’s ears from a million miles away, you could recognize those eyes anywhere and right now they were shooting daggers at you.

“OH! Hi!”

His response to your greeting was a curt nod accompanying a vague hand movement, something between a hi and a failed facepalm.

At this Chanyeol guffawed, “You two know each other?”, his keen gaze rapidly flitting between the two of you.

“Yes -”

“No -”

While gesturing you to take a seat at their table, Chanyeol slumped into his chair and pursued the conversation in a voice laced with amusement, “So which is it?”

You gave your head a little shake, signalling Chanyeol to drop the topic since his friend had made his apprehension quite evident with an unambiguous “No” when asked if he knew you. Which...wasn’t entirely untrue. Even though Chanyeol now seemed to be on the same page as you, for good measure, you deflected his question with a polite, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Absolutely not!” Chanyeol assured, deftly steering the conversation back to you, “We could actually use your advice on something but first, Shifu, look at you! How long has it been? Five years?”

“Five years!”

“Wahhh! What brings you back to Seoul?”

With a wistful smile, you answered, “Appa passed away in April...”

“Oh, I’m- I’m so sorry -” stuttered Chanyeol, immediately placing his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. From the corner of your eye you noticed Chanyeol’s friend chewing on his bottom lip and listening to this exchange with rapt attention.

“No, no, it’s erm...we’re doing okay now, I guess-”

It had been two and a half months but every time you talked about it, a black hole burgeoned right in the middle of your chest, sucking you within itself and rendering you breathless. You still hadn’t picked up the art of condoling the “condoler”. What were you even supposed to say to the faultless “I’m sorry”? Who came up with condolence jargon, anyway?

“I’m sorry we haven’t been in touch - ”

“Oh, please. You know how it is after Uni, isn’t it,” you turned to Chanyeol’s friend to make him feel a little less left out, “what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” he answered in a clipped tone while mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“Yah!” Chanyeol chastised him with a deathly glare before continuing with an impish smile, “He’s Doh Kyungsoo.”

“Ah! So he’s Doh Kyungsoo! I’ve heard a great deal about you!” Your enthusiasm invoked a quick cursory smile from him. Doh Kyungsoo had apparently made it his life’s mission to make this unexpected rendezvous as icky as possible, leaving you to wonder if Chanyeol had ever discussed your brief relationship with him. Ex-girlfriend meets best friend? Not an ideal scenario in any part of the world.

Chanyeol and you had gone out for a couple of weeks towards the end of freshman year until you both realized that you were much better off as friends. Despite being joined at the hip in Uni, the two of you had gone your separate ways after post-grad. While he returned to Seoul to join the family business, you’d stayed back in Milan to explore job opportunities. Messages and phone calls became few and far between and it wasn’t long before both of you had completely lost touch with each other.

And it wasn’t until you met him again that you realized how desperately you needed a friend considering everything that had been going on in your life. You selfishly wished for Kyungsoo to leave you two to catch up on all these years spent apart but clearly that was a lot to ask considering how tacitly territorial he seemed to be getting about Chanyeol.

“So what was it that you wanted to talk about?” you asked in another feeble attempt to water down the rancour.

Chanyeol’s features flared into a bashful smile but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, Kyungsoo held a hand up to him and insisted, “Allow me to spare you the blushes,” before starting to explain the situation in an uncharacteristically eager tone, “This idiot is getting married in three months -”

Boisterously thumping Chanyeol’s back, you showered him with congratulations which he accepted with a shy ‘thank you.’

Kyungsoo continued, “- and we have a road trip planned for next month. As per the pact -”

Head tilted to the side, you shot, “What pact?”

“Some stupid pact that I have no memory of - ”

“That you conveniently have no memory of!” interrupted a salty Chanyeol.

Kyungsoo grimaced. Rubbing the corner of his eye, he continued with a heavy sigh, “It was supposed to be the three of us...Chanyeol, me, and our school friend Yixing.”

“Oh, okay?”

“So Yixing fell off a tractor and broke his back -”

“Oh, my gosh!” You exclaimed.

Kyungsoo’s mouth fell open. “I wasn’t there but I’d bet my ass that’s exactly what he said at the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait, wait, slow down, why- how- a tractor?”

“He quit his CEO position to become a full time….farmer,” deadpanned Kyungsoo as if it was the stupidest thing Yixing could’ve done which rubbed you up the wrong way and coloured your otherwise neutral expression.

“He basically did what Kyungsoo doesn’t have the balls to do,” quipped Chanyeol, lips stretched into a gremlin-like grin. Kyungsoo returned his jibe with a strike to his arm causing him to let out a dramatic wail thus inviting the attention of everyone around you.

But none of it deterred Kyungsoo. He continued nonchalantly as if presenting a well crafted business proposal, “Since one of us is unavailable it only makes sense to postpone the trip and that’s exactly what I’ve been asking Chanyeol to do but he just won’t listen.”

“You’re getting married in three months and you’re taking this road trip next month. Will you be left with enough time for wedding planning?” you reasoned with Chanyeol, well aware of the kind of family he belonged to and the kind of weddings these families planned.

“Mr. Park here was way too eager,” Kyungsoo butted in.

“Shut up, Kyungsoo!”

“Wahhh you must really love her ~ ,” you sang, moon-eyed.

“Clearly. He couldn’t even wait for the rest of us to finish singing the birthday song for his Eomma.”

“What?”

“Yeah! He popped the question to Aera right in the middle of it.”

“WHAT!”

“That’s a story for another day,” replied Chanyeol in an atypically calm tone, “but you’re right, Shifu, it’s not enough time and that’s why I’ve been asking this idiot to just -”

“All reservations are for three. It logistically makes more sense to reschedule,” declared Kyungsoo with a hint of finality in his tone.

It didn’t. It definitely didn’t make more sense to reschedule but as gullible as Chanyeol was, he said nothing to counter Kyungsoo’s illogical argument.

“Are you sure your friend Yixing would be okay with it, Yeollie? I’m sure you can wait for him to get better and -”

Firmly setting his jaw, Chanyeol looked you square in the eyes and stated, “It's now or never.”

Kyungsoo stole a glance at you and cleared his throat, hesitance betraying his voice when he spoke again, “Chanyeollah, you’re only getting married stop talking like you’re terminally ill.”

Chanyeol's expression softened to convey an implicit plea causing you to tweak your suggestion, “The two of you can still go? I’m sure Yixing won’t mind.”

But Chanyeol hit you with an unexpected proposal. He asked, “Do you want to come?”, in a tone that was way too serious for a road trip.

“What? No!”

“Why not? You’re here and - “

“- and Yixing’s not,” interrupted Kyungsoo.

Ignoring the sarcasm in Kyungsoo’s voice, you turned Chanyeol down gently, “No, Yeol, it’s just- it doesn’t make sense, bub.”

“Why not? We leave in a month and that’s plenty of time to get all your travel docs in order -”

“Travel docs? You mean….insurance?” You asked hesitantly.

“Yeah! Insurance...you won’t need a visa, though.”

“Visa? Yeah, obviously I won’t be needing a visa. Why would I need a visa for a road trip?”

Chanyeol slapped his forehead and wondered aloud, “Oh, shoot! We didn’t tell her, did we?”

Kyungsoo gave his head a little shake, prompting you to ask, “Tell me what?”

“It’s a road trip through uhhh northeastern Spain -”

Chanyeol’s elaborate account of the itinerary was drowned in the whirlpool of emotions that erupted within you at the mention of the country. That part of your life you had locked away in the deepest, darkest corners of your consciousness now stared you straight in the eyes, forcing you to acknowledge a reality far too jarring for your fragile state of mind. You took a sip of your long forgotten beverage to centre yourself but it didn’t take a genius to know that something was up.

Placing a hand on your head, he asked softly, “What is it, Shifu? I understand if you can’t leave Eomma alone at this point...”

“It’s not Eomma,” you took another sip of the drink to fight the lump in your throat, “Eomma is - Eomma is in Bucheon, visiting her sister. For I don’t know how long but...long.”

“Is it work?” contributed Kyungsoo.

“I quit my job,” you answered and he looked at you as if you, a total stranger, had just asked him his body count.

Chanyeol took your hand in his and reiterated, “Come, then? You need this.”

Your gaze bounced between the two men who wore the exact same expression in expectation of two entirely different answers. And whatever you chose to say next, you were sure to disappoint one of them.

Eyes unfocussed, a deafening ringing echoing in your ears, you declared softly, “I need this,” with a million unpleasant scenarios running through your head, making you sick to the stomach.

Chanyeol pulled you in for a bear hug. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and let out a deep, disappointed sigh.

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thesquidkid · 3 years

Text

I was the match and you were the rock

This was supposed to be a very different fic, but Things We Lost In The Fire by Bastille came on, and this was born (also I listened to the song on repeat, so there may be some lyrics scattered around 😂)

It is also quite sad (at least I have tears in my eyes writing it), so I guess sorry? Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it! 😂 (Also on ao3)

Oh and there might be spoilers for the finale? With everything happening with the airstream.

Michael was sitting on the ground, back against his truck, in the middle of the junkyard, looking at his trailer go up in flames. All the people he cared about were besides him, Alex sitting on his right, rubbing his thigh. He had his arm around the other man, the two of them mourning the airstream and all the moments shared.

But more than just memories with Alex, the trailer held Michael’s life for over a decade. He knew the others were sad, but overall they all shared the same sense of joy - Jones was no more a threat. And as much as Michael wanted to celebrate, he also mentally counted how much everything would cost to replace, if he could live with Alex until he found a solution, how many other vehicles had been touched, how deep in debt Sanders Auto would be in.

“Out.” Sanders said, not leaving any place for discussion. He was standing, leaning against Michael’s truck, his leg touching Michael’s shoulder, a comforting presence.

When Michael had fallen to the ground seeing the flames, Sanders had kept standing, head high. But deep down, he was in a similar state to Michael - teary eye(s) and wet cheek(s), calculating the loss of money, the loss of small sentimental value. Because even if there wasn’t much in the airstream, it was all Michael’s, and Sanders had grown used to it being there, was even attached to the poor thing.

This is why he was asking everyone to leave. They didn’t belong in this place, and didn't understand what was truly happening. They wanted to celebrate the win against Jones - as they should - but they didn’t feel the same loss that Michael did.

Michael didn’t even register Sanders’ word, didn’t even hear the cars leaving, his ears still ringing from the explosion. He had gone into the airstream, to try to save anything, but it was too late, most of the inside had burnt down already, the outside shell starting to melt.

I will burn down everything you care about, Jones had said when they defeated him. At first, Michael didn’t understand. Alex was standing next to him, seemingly not on fire, Isobel and Max in a similar state. He even checked in with Sanders, called the old man to make sure he was okay, when the explosion happened. Michael had driven as fast as he could, rushing to the airstream, Alex shouting after him.

He didn’t see Alex running after him, forgetting for a moment that Michael was fireproof. It was only when Alex grabbed Michael’s hand inside the airstream, that Michael registered the dangerousity of Alex being here. Using his powers, he had pushed Alex out of there, but that didn’t stop both of them to still be coughing and Alex’s prosthetic needing to be replaced.

But neither of those things were at the front of Alex’s mind in that instant. Sitting on the ground, his leg in front of him, still hot from the fire, coughing once in a while, his only focus was Michael. Michael was okay, physically. The flames hadn’t burned him, and the coughing had stopped after a while. Emotionally, on the other hand, he knew that Michael was not okay. Even if he couldn’t fully understand how much the airstream meant to Michael, he knew that he was hurting, and wanted nothing more than to be there to comfort his boyfriend.

And so he stayed. When Sanders told the others to go, he looked up to the older man, who was only looking at the flames. He wondered if he should leave the two to be alone, to mourn, to check the damage, but he also knew that he was not going to leave Michael’s side for a few days, especially not after what happened with Jones.

The firefighters came, eventually. By then, nothing could be saved. Luckily, Michael had used his powers to push the remaining cars and various other inflammable objects present in the junkyard to the side.

When the firefighters left, having checked Alex, Michael and Sanders and advising them to go get checked out at the hospital, the three men were alone, the airstream’s creaking cutting through the night.

“You should head home,” Michael whispered to Alex, his eyes never leaving the airstream, “you need to rest your leg, I’ll join you in a bit.” He turned his head to meet Alex, who could see all the desperation, the sadness and the anger present in those golden eyes.

“You’re sure?” Alex asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Michael nodded, turning back to the airstream with a sniff. “We need to check for what can be covered by insurance, and what we’ll lose,” Sanders said with a gruff, turning his back to the airstream for the first time since the explosion.

Michael wiped his cheeks and turned around, facing Alex properly, who was sitting on the bed of the truck. From where he stood, Michael could see the airstream from the corner of his eye, could smell the burnt metal, could hear the cracks. He took Alex’s hands in his, “I’ll be home in a bit,” he said, his voice breaking, “I just need -” he went on in a sobb, dropping his head into Alex’s shoulder, who put his hand to Michael’s hair, in a comforting gesture.

It broke Alex’s heart to see this, to see Michael be so desperate, so lost, in such pain. “You need to make a list of what burned down,” Alex finished, knowing that this was important to Michael, both financially, and sentimentally. Who knew if Sanders Auto would even recover from such havoc. Alex just knew that he would do everything he could so that Michael wasn’t alone.

Michael sniffed into Alex’s shoulder, breaking Alex’s heart a little more, before standing up. He wiped his face with his hand, and breathed deeply, his hands still holding onto Alex’s.

Alex drove back home, putting his leg through one last painful challenge, before taking it off as soon as he sat on his couch, before texting Michael to let him know he had made it safe and sound.

Examining the prosthetic under a proper light, he could see that it was crooked, parts of it having melted in the heat. His stump was bright red and swollen, he made his way to the bathroom and warmed himself a bath, setting an alarm clock to get out of the water.

When the alarm rang, he dried himself and got dressed for bed, each step made with a wince. After taking two painkillers, he made his way to his bed, falling asleep as soon as he was under the covers.

He woke up when he felt a warm body slide next to him under the covers. When he opened his eyes, he saw Michael, curls still wet from the shower he had just taken, eyes still puffy. Alex scooted closer to Michael, wrapping him in his arms. They could talk in the morning, about Jones, about the airstream and the junkyard, but right now, both needed the rest and the comfort of each other.

In the morning, when Michael woke up, he found himself in an empty bed. He got out with a smile, eyes still puffy from the night before, but not crying anymore (not that he had any tears left in the first place), and walked to Alex’s living room, where he could hear some noise.

Getting closer, he could hear Alex on the phone, finishing up a conversation, “Yeah okay, I will, thanks.” He was sitting on the couch, his leg propped up on top of a pillow, the prosthetic off. On the table were laying a jar of cometquiles spread and some flying sauce-cakes, making Michael chuckle, remembering the last time those were on that exact table.

“Arthuro called and asked what you wanted, he heard about -” Alex said, going off at the end, not wanting to say it, but knowing that they needed to talk about it, the explosion.

“How’s your knee?” Michael asked instead, taking a cake and sitting next to Alex, worry clear on his face. The airstream was gone, the damage already caused at the junkyard, he and Sanders had already talked about their next possible moves, right now the only thing he could act on was Alex. Whether it was a massage, fixing the prosthetic, anything Alex needed, wanted.

“It has known better days,” Alex answered, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder while he ate. They were silent for a few minutes, Michael enjoying breakfast, Alex texting Kyle about his leg. Once Michael finished eating, he spoke up.

“So, uh, we made a list?” Michael started, hesitantly. “Of all the things we lost in the fire. A few cars were touched, so that’s gonna cost a lot with the clients. Hopefully we can get insurance, but I don’t think that’ll be enough. There’s also a lot of old junk that burnt, which sucks since we wanted to sort through it and melt the metal parts together. Now it’s just a bunch of useless shit, so we’ll have to throw that out. We’ll also need to replace the heavy tools, a lot of them are melted or burnt. So all in all, the bill is high.”

He sighed, “Too high,” he added at the end, a whisper, as if saying the words at louf would make them more real. After the pandemic, the junkyard was slowly building itself back up monetarily, but they still weren’t out of the red. And the explosion only made things harder.

Alex rubbed his hand up and down Michael’s back, listening in silence, being a comforting presence. One Michael finished speaking, Alex talked, voice low, testing the waters if Michael wasn’t ready to talk about it now.

“Did you make a list for the airstream?” he asked, full of concern.

Michael nodded, and suddenly it was as if the dam had broken. When last night Michael was mostly in shock, he was fully sobbing, turning to Alex, who held him tight in the embrace.

“I lost -” Michael sobbed, “I lost everything, Alex.”

Alex held him, tried to make him feel calmer. Except, this was all new territory, seeing Michael brake like that, Alex had never witnessed it. Like everyone else, anger was mostly the emotion he had attributed to Michael in the past. And that anger was still there, now, sobbing into Alex’s chest. Except it was controlled, and surrounded by sadness and pain, that Alex didn’t need to be psychic to feel.

Before, Alex might have taken Michael’s comment personally, told him that he didn’t lose everything, that Alex was still there. But this was past Alex, present Alex knew that Michael had built his life in that airstream, it was his first real home, the first safe place that was his and his only. Because where the truck was technically speaking the first thing Michael owned, the trailer was the first object he built from the ground up.

So yes, Michael had lost everything. Everything he owned, everything he built, the countless drawings and projects that scattered the walls of the airstream and the entire bunker, the photographs he kept hidden in a box.

Where people would see a piece of trash, some place that was unsanitary and dirty, some place that wouldn’t be comfortable to live in, Michael had seen a home for many years. And as much as Alex was Michael’s home, nothing could replace the airstream.

“I know,” Alex whispered into Michael’s hair, “I’m sorry”.

The two stayed in that position for a while, until Alex’s phone rang. Michael stood straight, wiped his eyes and his nose, and grabbed another cake, while Alex talked to Eduardo, giving a fast review of what happened with the Lockhart machine, but keeping it vague enough to not out Dallas.

“Seriously,” Alex laughed out after hanging up, “the Valenti’s need to stop calling me.” At Michael’s confused raised eyebrow, he continued, “I was talking to Kyle earlier, he was worried about my leg, telling me not to put it under pressure. As if I couldn’t make that decision myself. And now, Eduardo is giving me a week off, to, I quote, ‘rest’. I am a grown ass man, I can do that myself!”

Michael giggled at that, turning into a laugh. “What?” Alex asked with a smile, not understanding what was funny.

“Babe,” Michael said, leaning close, “you do need people to tell you to rest.” He kissed Alex’s cheek as the other man chuckled, “That’s fair,” Alex replied, turning to look at Michael.

He was not yet in a good state, his eyes were still puffy and red, his cheeks beard the path of dried tears, his curls were all over the place, and his eyes were still heartbreaking. The sadness and the pain were clear in them.

But when Alex looked deep into Michael’s eyes, he could see that it was going to be okay. That Michael would hurt, for a long time even, and it would be hard to recover financially, but Michael’s eyes had something in them that he had desperately tried to get rid of. Hope.

And that was enough for Alex to believe that they were going to be okay. That Michael was going to be okay. The fight wasn’t over. The other’s may not be fighting Jones anymore, but Michael and Alex weren't done. In more ways than once.

They still had to deal with the damages in the junkyard. Help Sanders with his auto shop. And deal with their personal fears, Michael’s fears about his father.

The fire had destroyed Michael’s home, but from the ashes, a new one was being built.

#i made myself cry with my own fic lmao #and when i mean it was supposed to be different #i had planned a fic where the pod squad is happy alive and hugs #and i ended up with michael crying #i blame it all on the song #michael guerin #alex manes #walt sanders #rnm fic #rnm spoilers #again idk if it really counts as spoilers?#im gonna assume so to be on the safe side #thesquidkid writes

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mostly-marvel-musings · 3 years

Text

Typical Stark - Part 2

A/N: Sequel to Typical Stark, but could be read as a standalone fic too!

Fall Prompts Masterlist

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: Fluff and sass, some kissing!

Word count: 1338

Tony Stark Taglist - @raspberrymama @ladyeliot @boop-le-snoot @make-a-memory-drink-it-up @loveisallyouneed1125 @ownsmyheart @anthonyjanthony666 @downeyreads

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @little-baby-vixen @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @marvelgirl7 @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf

Tags are open! Send me an ask or DM if you wish to be in any of the taglists ;))

…

Tony’s offer replayed in your mind a thousand times over, an offer you approached him with first on the day your mission had gone awry. Sure it had been your idea but, a part of you had believed Tony would never take you up on it, sooner or later he’d forget about the whole thing.

It was Tony, after all.

A week later, you had FRIDAY enquire you about your schedule for the weekend before revealing the real reason for such unpredicted prying. After trying on every fancy outfit in your wardrobe like a teenager before a first date, you settled on a simple pair of jeans and a comfy sweater.

You weren’t going over to try and impress Tony, it was just casual conversation over drinks, not a date. You needed that reminder every so often.

Not that you had expected any less, Tony Stark’s penthouse screamed rich. There was nothing ‘home-y’ about the place, which made you wonder how much time Tony actually spent in the living quarters rather than the infamous lab you had heard so much about. Sure you lived in the compound but, you hadn’t been to his apartment before, given the fact that you’d spent the last two years hating his guts and callous attitude.

Way out of your league and certainly not your style.

“So Miss (Y/L/N) what can I impress you with today? Glenmorangie? A fine 16 year old Highland Park? Some good old Bourbon?” Tony bragged, sauntering over to the bar counter, sparing a glance at you over his shoulder.

“How about an honest conversation for once? With Bourbon please.”

Your retort making his previously forgotten apprehension resurface, however he had expected nothing less knowing it was you.

You were different. As much as he hated to compare, you had traits very similar to those of Pepper. She never took his bullshit and neither did you.

And he was glad you were so unlike the girls he brought back here before Pepper. They’d gush about anything and everything to flatter him and it usually ended with that flattery continuing in the bedroom before he’d leave them or have them kicked out. Clothes they wore aimed to catch his eye but here you were in a humble attire looking stunning as ever, aiming for his heart without even trying.

Tony smiled as you kicked off your shoes and settled on his plush couch, legs folding under while your eyes scanned his apartment interiors, as if judging his sense of style. For the first time in forever, he found himself genuinely wondering if his apartment was up to the mark.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. Cheers.”

The amber liquid swished quietly in the crystal glass as you raised it against Tony’s to clink.

“What are we toasting?” Tony asked, settling a safe distance away from you on the couch, his expensive cologne overwhelming your senses.

“The first real conversation Tony Stark’s had in decades?” you shrugged, a nervous laugh followed when Tony’s expression changed.

“I’m being a bitch again. Sorry. Force of habit.” Shaking your head in regret, you took a big gulp of the bourbon in hopes that the burning liquid would blunt your unnecessarily sharp tongue.

It was a habit developed in order to protect yourself from getting your heart broken by guys like Tony, and now it was just a natural response. And now Tony seemed hurt, and you were guilty.

“No, they’re hard-to-swallow pills shooting out of your mouth every time we meet. I need them every now and then. Just never thought I’d hear one on a date.” Tony’s eyes widened on that last sentence he’d just blurted out.

You stopped mid sip and stared at the man, mildly amused at his flustered state, eyes flitting towards his glass to check if he was tipsy.

That was a first!

“A date huh?”

“Uh n-no it wasn’t what I meant. I just—”

“Shh relax Tony I was only teasing.”

He stood up suddenly, leaving you smirking on the couch alone while he downed the rest of his drink, face scrunching up in disgust as he looked down at the city facing his large floor to ceiling window.

You were one of the few people who could actually make him nervous, Tony wondered if he continued to pursue this, you’d leave him too, just like Pepper had.

Damage control was vital and you decided to break the ice the best way you knew after gulping your own drink in one go.

“So what are Tony Stark’s first date moves?”

His chuckle spread relief through your system, letting you know that you hadn’t royally fucked this up.

“Actually this could be considered my first date ever.”

“What crap.”

“Honest. You knew how I was before there’s no need to rehash that. And with Pepper well, we never had a proper date. We just got together and then we didn’t.”

Tony shrugged, his face holding sincerity but fear of having said too much, some hesitation for being so vulnerable for the first time ever and a glimmer of hope that you wouldn’t walk out after hearing him.

“Umm..Another round perhaps?” You offered with a kind smile watching Tony’s demeanor visibly relax as he handed you the empty glass, nodding.

He watched how you moved around the space as if this were a routine and not the first time you’d been to his place, how your calm composure actually reduced his anxieties, you move behind the bar and collect the bottles you needed before staring up at him in expectation, making him realise you’d asked a question.

“I’m sorry what?”

“I asked if you’d be interested in trying a cocktail I make that’s not half bad.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

Two hours and three dangerously potent drinks later, you two settled on his couch once more, this time leaving little to almost no space in between.

Tony had his eyes closed and his head thrown back in laughter while you narrated one of your stories with Cap where he’d accidentally seen you changing after walking into what initially seemed like an empty gym, that ended up in him turning into a beetroot and tripping on a punching bag.

“Lucky fella.”

“Ah the flirt resurfaces!” You giggled, pressing your cheek against the plush couch, facing him, the alcohol pleasantly warm and buzzing through your system.

As much as you’d appreciated Tony’s real more vulnerable side, you couldn’t help feel glad his carefree flirty self was back. He seemed more in his element when he was like this, and it had been a while since you last saw this Tony Stark.

“So no guy worthy enough to deserve your love yet (Y/L/N)?”

“I would say things are looking up.”

He mirrored your position, drink-free hand sliding up your thigh, up your arm before reaching your face, thumb hesitantly halted above your cheek. You leaned into his touch, shifting closer, sighing when he caressed your cheek ever so gently.

A smile playing on his lips as he got closer, breath tickling your face before you felt his soft lips press against yours. Your own hands went behind his neck to pull him closer, kissing him back before teasing your tongue against his bottom lip, coaxing them open. Tony obliged by pulling you into his lap, tongue delving into your mouth, the taste of whiskey, lime and tequila you had earlier evident. Rough hands planted on your butt, grinding it against his crotch had you moaning into the kiss.

It took everything you had in you to break the kiss as you caught your breath, Tony however had begun littering your jawline and neck with feather-light kisses.

“I’m not sleeping with you when we’re this drunk Tony.”

“Why?” His voice a whine, almost making you cave. You opened your eyes and held his face between your hands, foreheads touching.

“I’m not like the others remember?” Your voice barely a whisper.

“No you’re not. You’re everything I’ve missed and more.”

Part 3? Lol I should stop.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark one shot #tony stark imagine #tony stark fluff #iron man fluff #iron man fanfic #iron man x reader

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 3 years

Text

Dead Man’s Cell Phone--Chapter 4

Summary: When Emma Swan starts getting phone calls and texts from an unfamiliar number, she decides to check it out–only to discover the number belongs to a Killian Jones, who was killed in a robbery gone wrong six months ago. With some help from a medium, Merlin Emrys, Emma hopes to find out why a dead guy is contacting her–and why she feels such a strong pull to someone she has never met before.

Rating: K+

Welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! A big thank you to @cssns, the ladies on the Discord! Thank you also to @eastwesthomeisbest, my artist and my beta @veryverynotgood!

Other Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 Epilogue

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian felt as though he were swimming up from the bottom of the ocean. Everything was dark and still, the sounds around him muffled, as though he were hearing them through the water. And then suddenly the water cleared and he pushed through the surface.

The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was her face, her beautiful radiant face looking down on him with hope and perhaps a bit of trepidation.

"Swan, at last!" he whispered past a throat as dry as sandpaper.

How he knew her name he had no idea, but know it he did, just as he had the strangest feeling he knew her--had communicated with her, had a connection with her.

Given the standoffish way she'd treated their one previous encounter, he expected her to pull away, to become defensive at his familiar use of her name, but she surprised him. Instead of shying away, she smiled at him, let her hand linger on his cheek a moment longer and simply said, "Welcome back."

A nurse came in at that moment, and Killian looked around in surprise. For the first time, he realized he was in a hospital.

"What--" he croaked before taking a sip of water the nurse brought him. "What happened?"

"We were rather hoping you could tell us that," replied a handsome black man who stood at a discreet distance.

"Killian, I'd like you to meet Merlin Emrys," Emma said. "It's thanks to him we were able to find you."

Killian held out his hand, and shook Merlin's. "You have my thanks."

"You're most welcome," Merlin said with a smile, "but I assure you I was only a small part of the puzzle. You owe your waking to Miss Swan here--to her and to the connection you share."

It was odd, Killian thought, that neither he nor Emma had introduced themselves to each other; it was even more odd that it felt as though such an introduction would be redundant. What had happened to them to make them feel as though they'd known each other for decades?

Soulmates, a small voice inside of him insisted.

"You have my deepest gratitude," Killian said, looking around at the two people with him, "both of you."

Emma took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Do you remember anything about...whatever it was that brought you here?"

Killian thought intently for a moment, closing his eyes to help himself concentrate. "I remember…" He looked up at Emma. "I remember you, love. I remember running into you, quite literally, and then I came across a scuffle in an alley. I tried to intervene and was struck from behind, and then...nothing."

"Killian," Emma said gently, "that was half a year ago. You were declared dead, and your family interred you in the family mausoleum. Do you know how that could have happened?"

Killian shook his head. "I have no idea, love. It is a mystery--"

Suddenly the flower vase on the bedside table crashed to the floor, making Killian jump.

"What the hell?!" Emma exclaimed.

It was me!

Killian jumped in the bed. He’d heard the voice as clearly as he’d heard Emma’s exclamation, but the voice wasn’t in the room; it was in his head.

“Did you….did you hear that?” he asked, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.

“Yeah, I think so,” she said. She looked as disconcerted as he felt. “Merlin? What’s happening?”

Killian turned to look at the other man in the room, but he wasn’t paying them any mind. His attention was focused near the nightstand and the shattered vase. For a moment, he merely stared intently, and then he nodded, as though acknowledging someone--or something--neither Killian nor Emma could see.

“Emma,” Merlin said, finally turning back toward the bed, “do you remember when you first came to me, I sensed another spirit with us? An angry and quite desperate one?”

Emma furrowed her brows. “Um...yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“He’s with us now,” Merlin said. “He’s the voice you heard, and he’s responsible for the broken vase.”

“Okay…”

“Killian,” Merlin said, “his name is Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. He says he made a terrible decision. He borrowed a good deal of money from the mobster known as Hades. The business venture he’d gambled the money on fell through, and to put it mildly, Hades was not pleased.”

“Clearly things went rather badly for him after that if he’s a ghost,” Killian said slowly, “but I’m afraid I don’t follow. What does this Arthur Pendragon have to do with any of us?”

It was me!!

This time the shout in his head was so loud it was nearly deafening. Killian scowled, glaring in the general direction of the nightstand where he assumed the spirit was standing--or whatever it is that spirits do when they’re haunting the living.

“Seems like someone’s impatient,” Emma said dryly. “Merlin, how about you stop with the vagueness and just spit it out. Who is -or I guess who was- Arthur, and why does he insist on yelling at us?”

“Arthur Pendragon is haunting you both because he was the man in the alley, the man you tried to save, Killian.”

Killian blew out a long breath. “Clearly my attempts were fruitless.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, you weren’t able to save his life, but he’s here for a reason. Maybe you can help him now, help him move on, help him find peace.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m at his disposal,” Killian said, “but why the bloody hell does he keep repeating ‘it was me’?”

Merlin turned toward the nightstand and listened for another moment, and then he turned back to the bed, smiling.

“It would seem Arthur Pendragon is the solution to the mystery you face,” Merlin said. “It was Arthur’s body the authorities found in the alley. Your phone, Killian, was found beside him. Given the fact that he was beaten until he was unrecognizable, and given the fact that he bore a rather uncanny resemblance to you in life, it was believed he was you. It was his body that was shipped back to England.”

Emma whistled. “That’s quite the mistake.”

“Indeed,” Merlin agreed.

“So, how can we help him?” Killian asked. “How can we move him toward the light?”

“Arthur wishes his body to be returned back home,” Merlin said, “and he wishes a message be conveyed to his widow, Guinevere.”

“I can manage that,” Killian said. “What precisely is the message?”

“Arthur wishes to tell Gwen, as he calls her, that he’s sorry,” Merlin said. “He knows his obsession wounded his wife deeply, and he wishes more than anything that he’d been a better husband to her. He wants to thank her for her constant love and faithfulness, even when he was not worthy of it, but now she should follow her heart with his blessing. Lance du Lac is a good man, and Arthur hopes they are happy together.”

“I promise you, Arthur,” Emma said, taking Killian’s hand, “I’ll find your wife, and I’ll pass on your message.”

Killian felt a whoosh of coldness pass him, and then it was gone. Suddenly the room felt warmer, lighter.

Emptier.

“He’s moved on,” Merlin said. “Thanks to the both of you, a man who was very troubled--both in life and in death--was able to find peace.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

3 days later

Emma knocked softly on the doorframe, and then stepped inside Killian’s hospital room. He looked up from his seat in the plush chair in the corner, and his entire face lit up at the sight of her.

It made the butterflies dance in her stomach. He was gorgeous when he smiled like that, and she had to admit, the dark-wash jeans, blue button-up and black leather jacket didn’t hurt either. Lying in the bed in a hospital gown he was easy on the eyes, but up and dressed--woah!

His delighted grin turned knowing, and Emma felt her face flame. She was quite sure she hadn’t been this ridiculously attracted to someone since...well, she wasn’t sure it’d ever been like this.

“Looks like someone’s eager to get out of the hospital,” Emma said.

“Aye,” Killian agreed with a nod. “I believe I’ve spent more than enough time in this small room. I’m eager to make the most of my last day in the States.”

After waking from the coma and learning the truth of what happened to him, Killian had made an immediate call to his brother, Liam, paying no mind to the time difference that made it the middle of the night in England.

“Brother?” Killian said as soon as the call connected. “Are you sitting down?”

Emma had gotten up to leave then, not wanting to intrude on a private family moment, but Killian stopped her, squeezing her hand and begging her with his expressive eyes to stay.

Liam had offered to jump on the next plane to the States, but Killian had refused. “It’s been six months, Liam,” he’d said. “If my calculations are correct, my small niece or nephew is to be born any day. Elsa needs you now more than I do.”

Killian listened for a moment before grinning at Emma and rolling his eyes. “Stop fussing, Liam,” he murmured affectionately. “I’m not a lad anymore. I can manage alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Emma said with conviction. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

And she had. She’d spent every free moment here with him at the hospital over the ensuing three days until the doctor had agreed to release him. Emma had long since stopped wondering about the connection she felt to Killian, had stopped fighting against the pull she felt toward him. Whatever odd twist of fate had brought the two of them together, together they were, and Emma found she had no desire to fight against the warmth and happiness being with him brought.

But now, well now, it was all about to come to an end. Killian’s flight was first thing in the morning, and afterward, there would be an entire ocean between them.

Emma’s heart plummeted. There were far too many obstacles for a “relationship”--or whatever you’d call what they had--that had lasted all of a week. She didn’t even know if he felt the same way about her that she did about him. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d have to say goodbye to the man who had somehow managed to burrow his way into her heart, and for all she knew that goodbye would be permanent.

“The doctor should be here any minute for a last check, and then you’re out of here,” Emma said, forcing the dismal thoughts from her mind. Killian being released from the hospital was a good thing. She wasn’t going to ruin the moment by being glum.

“I must admit, I’ll be pleased to be rid of this place,” Killian said with a wry grin. “How the devil is one expected to convalesce and get his rest when the nurses come to poke and prod every five minutes?”

Emma laughed. “Quit complaining,” she said. “You know you had all the nurses eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“They seem to have adopted me as their pet over the past few months, haven’t they? Even if the brigands who attacked me rather knocked the handsome out of me.”

Emma grinned. “No one’s that powerful.”

He enjoyed her flirting, if his pleased grin was any indication. After a moment, he sobered. “I want to thank you, Swan, for saving me, pulling me from the coma.”

She smiled gently. “Did you really think I’d let you waste away in here if I could help it?”

“I’d hardly blame you if you did,” he answered. “After all, we were strangers. Not one person in a hundred who received a phone call from a dead man would put in half the effort you did to track it down.”

Emma shrugged. “It was weird. I had the strangest feeling of connection to you, even though as far as I knew at the time, I’d never even seen you before. No way I could have just let you languish here.”

The doctor came in at that moment, and their conversation was put on hold as he did his final examination before declaring Killian fit to go about his normal life.

“So, I went ahead and booked you a room at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast,” Emma said when they were once again at home. “Granny put you in the same room you’d been in during your vacation, before, you know, everything happened.”

“I greatly appreciate it, love.”

“I guess, um,” she said, “we should go. I’ll drop you off and let you enjoy your last day in Storybrooke however you’d like.”

Emma turned to leave the room, but Killian stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Do you know how I’d most like to spend my last day in the States?”

She shook her head.

“I’d like to spend it with you,” he said with a gentle smile. “Would you allow me to buy you lunch?”

Her heart pounded. “Are you...are you asking me out?”

He nodded, taking her hand and lacing their fingers. “If you’re amenable, aye, I’m absolutely asking you out. What do you say?”

Emma stepped into his space, cupped the back of his head with her free hand, and brought his lips down to hers. If he was surprised at the kiss, he didn’t show it, responding as soon as her lips touched his.

And gods did he know how to kiss. Emma was more than tempted to scrap their lunch date and simply stay here making out all day. Food was overrated compared to this.

“Alright, Mr. Jones, you’re good to--oh, I’m sorry! Let me just leave this with you--”

Emma pulled away, grinning as the embarrassed nurse laid a handful of forms on the bedside table and then scurried out the door.

“That was a yes, by the way,” Emma said when they were again alone. “How about we go get that lunch you promised me before we scandalize any more nurses?”

Notes:

--Well there you have it! Mystery solved and happy endings all around.

--All that’s left is a fluffy epilogue in which a few surprise guests show up at an important event in Emma and Killian’s lives.

Next Chapter-->

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ghost story au #(although not really a ghost story)#my fanfiction #dead man's cell phone

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catxsnow · 4 years

Text

BARING THE BURDEN

Summary: Bruce’s death meant someone had to take the mantle of Batman.

Warning: Angst

A/N: Lmfao I wrote this a long ass time ago and it was straight up meant to be the fic Please and I still don’t know how it took such a turn and I ended up with this.

Word Count: 3k

Bruce had a lot of sides.

He had the publicity CEO of Wayne Enterprises. A billionaire, ex-playboy who spent his days working to make this city better and his nights with his wife. His picture was plastered in the news and he was constantly getting recognition for everything he did. He was a hero to Gotham.

Then there was the Dark Knight. Keeping this city safe and instilling fear into his foes. He was dangerous, deadly if he ever choose to be. Batman was the farthest thing from a team player and yet he formed many. He was the reason that the world had been saved time and time again. He was Gotham's hero.

Bruce was a parent, though no kid was his own besides Damian. He was a family man, who loved his partner and kids even though he didn't always show it. He cared for everyone so deeply that he knew he would give his life to save theirs. This side was your favourite side, he was a hero to you and your kids.

Everything that Bruce did, one thing remained constant: he was the hero the world needed.

So, when the day came that he no longer protected the city, no longer protected you, it broke everyone. The city raged with crime. Bruce was no longer there to keep everyone safe. He had done exactly what he intended to do the day he married you: he died to keep you safe.

Bruce had known you far before he joined the Justice League. Just like the great Batman, you wanted nothing more than to keep the world safe. You wanted to be a hero - and after years of agony, you had done just that. Bruce knew the second that he saw you take down Scarecrow - on your own with fear toxin running though you - he needed you.

You were partners, equals on the streets. It didn't take long for him to seduce you to his bed, and shortly after that - put a ring on your finger. You were everything he needed - why waste time? Being with Bruce was a different experience every day, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

Losing him broke you. Of course it did. For years it seemed that he was invincible, no matter what side he showed. Even if he was just human, it always appeared that he was couldn't die. Bruce was a stubborn man, death never seemed to be in his cards. Until it was.

Bruce death destroyed any ounce of hope you had left. No matter how dark your life with Bruce was, there was always a shimmer of hope that you two would get to step away from this life. Now, you would never get that with him. You would never get your happy ending.

It seemed the city knew about Bruce's death before most of his kids. Jason was off around the world, taking down criminals in a way that you and Bruce never approved of. Dick was leading the Titans, Damian now part of the team. Tim, Steph, Cass, even Duke, they all seemed to have dropped off the radar a long time ago.

No matter how much they loved you, being back home wasn't always the easiest. It wasn't easy telling them that the man that raised them half their lives was dead, never to come back. In fact, it was so hard that you hadn't. Alfred remained silent about the truth, upholding Bruce's position at Wayne Enterprises for as long as he could.

Gotham, however, suffered without the Bat. Criminals were going wild in the streets, the biggest of the bad's seemingly putting all their plans into action. The city needed Batman, they needed him far more than you ever had. Bruce never wanted you to take that title as sole protector of the city. He had told you time and time again to get out of this life if he was to die.

You couldn't.

How could you when the people that killed him were still out there. Instead of giving up being a hero, finding your white picket fence life that Bruce so desperately wanted you to have, you did the exact thing that he would have never wanted you to do.

You became the Bat.

The suit was adjusted to your size, and even though you knew you couldn't pull off being the great Batman like any of your adopted sons could, this was your burden to carry, not theirs. Losing Bruce was on you, it hadn't been their faults. You couldn't bare the thought of having to get one of them to uphold this mantle.

It had to be you, it always had been. The first time that you put it on, it had brought you to tears. Tears of missing Bruce, of doing the one thing he never wanted of you. Tears of wondering what Dick and all the others were going to think of you in this suit. Tears of having to bare a burden you never would have wished for anyone.

"How's it look?" Alfred handed over a a handkerchief. You wiped away your tear stained face, petrified of what it was going to be like when you finally put the cowl on as well.

"Fits like a glove," Alfred answered. The suit looked like you were meant for it. Being the bat was life you were destined for, even if you knew every single person would know that you were far from the original. You would never be Bruce, Alfred knew that. You weren't Batman, you weren't Batwoman. You didn't know who you were anymore.

"What was I thinking, Alfred?" You asked, turning to face him. The Batmobile glared at you, along with every other item in that cave that belonged to Bruce. "I'm not Bruce, I'm not meant to do this. It should be Dick, Tim, Damian even. I look like a fraud. No one is going to believe this."

"You were meant for this," Alfred assured. You knew he was lying. Alfred knew more than anyone that Bruce didn't want you to take this title. He had told Alfred more than once never to let you step foot back in that cave if he was to perish. Alfred had gone against his dying wish - but it was going to be his if he went against you.

"I haven't even told the kids," your voice cracked. It had been just over three weeks since Bruce's death and you hadn't even gotten the guts to tell them their father died. How were you supposed to face the city if you couldn't face the family you loved? "I'm too weak."

"You were married to Master Bruce for a decade, I wouldn't call that weak in the slightest," Alfred tried to joke. If you could put up with his crazy life, you were anything but weak. "I've known you for a great deal of time, (Y/N), if there's one person that is strong enough to do this, it's you."

Your chin trembled for a moment. You couldn't keep these tears up, Alfred was right, you were strong enough to do this and you needed to prove it. Your fists clenched at your side and you clenched your jaw. It was time. The cowl was pulled up over your head, the final seal to your fate.

You were right. Not a single person believed that you were the great Batman. Even low-life criminal scum took you as a joke. They knew that you weren't him, they teased you enough that you had broken far greater than the bat ever would. After all your years as a vigilante, wearing that suit seemed to bring out a dark side you didn't know you had.

It was easier to understand now what Bruce's mentality was while wearing it. No matter the person under the cowl, it brought an evil out that was hard to push down. It was so easy to take down worthless criminals, they didn't know who was under the suit. No repercussions, no doubts.

You could understand why Jason did what he did. Wearing this suit, it brought out a lot of things that you didn't realize were hidden away. Night after night you would come home with blood soaking through the dark material. It was enough that it made Alfred concerned, even the city concerned.

Batman disappears for a few weeks and a successor comes back even more deadly than the last? GCPD wasn't going to allow it, and neither were the citizens. Even if they didn't agree with your suddenly violent methods, the city was getting safer and no one was dead. That didn't make Alfred any less worried.

Missing Bruce had fueled that aggression. You missed him so much that each time you put on his cowl, you were blinded by the anger of those who killed him. Bruce would have never wanted this of you, but you couldn't stop it. Not until every damn person in that city knew that you were going to stop them the second they thought about committing a crime.

"You've been all over the news, Bruce," Dick's voiced echoed through the cave. The cape that covered your shoulders hid your smaller frame, the cowl hiding your hair. He was standing far enough away that he couldn't tell the difference between you and your dead husband.

Your breath caught in your throat. Dick, the others, they still didn't know. You had been so caught up in keeping the Batman mantle alive that you hadn't thought once again about telling them. Now, you couldn't hide it anymore. You couldn't hide that Bruce was dead and that it was you under the mask.

Reluctantly, you pulled the cowl down as you turned to face Dick. Tears stung your eyes and poured down as you met Dick's. The utter shock that he had from you being in the suit had caused him to step back. He was prepared to lecture Bruce, not see that it was you.

"(Y/N)," Dick whispered. You avoided his gaze, petrified as to what he was going to think of you now. The whole reason he was there was to get Batman on the right path, now he was going to get a completely different story. He rushed down the steps of the cave, meeting you where you stood.

Your body shook with sobs, knees buckling from under you. If it wasn't for Dick's hold on you, you would have been flat on the ground. You didn't need to say anything, to explain what you were doing. The second that he saw you in Bruce's modified suit, he had figured it out.

Bruce Wayne was dead, and so was every other side of him.

Silent tears slipped down Dick's cheeks. He and Bruce might not have always gotten along, but he was still the man that raised him for over a decade. His grip on you tightened, just as you had thought, Bruce always seemed invincible. Dick never thought he'd see the day that Bruce was dead in the field.

"What happened?" Dick finally managed to speak. His voice cracked and he feverishly dried his wet cheeks, followed by yours.

"I should have been there," was all you could say. You were supposed to be with him that night, you should have been with him. You could have saved him, or died right along with him. Either options seemed to be easier than the pain that you had to endure without him. "I wasn't there to save him."

"The others?" Dick asked. He didn't know how long Bruce had been gone, or how long you had been hiding this from him. He wanted to be mad, to yell at you that he should have known sooner. He couldn't, not after seeing how torn up you were about this. You missed him far more than anyone.

You shook your head, voice catching in your throat. You didn't want to be the one to tell Damian that his father was dead, and you weren't there to stop it. It was you that sent him to the Titans, claiming that you and Bruce could handle the city on your own for a while. You were wrong, so desperately wrong.

Damian would never forgive you for this.

Dick turned away from you. His hand slid down his face, trying to decipher all the emotions running through him. Everyone needed to know, they deserved the truth. He was mad at you too, you could see it in the way he held himself up. You didn’t need a lecture that night, you needed to get on the streets and keep it safe.

You let out a shaky breath. The cowl no longer hung from your neck put was placed back on your head. Dick needed this time to himself, to accept that Bruce was gone. You needed to save the city. Besides, he didn't want to be anywhere near you, not right now. You could see it in him - mad at you for keeping it from him, from everyone, mad at you for taking such harsh measures and tarnishing Bruce’s name.

"Where are you going?" Dick asked as you stalked over to the Batmobile. You certainly didn't pass up as Bruce, not even close. Between your smaller frame and completely different voice, you were nothing like him. Even your fighting styles differed. If anyone was going to pull it off, it had to be Dick.

You didn't say anything as you hopped into the car. The track spun you around and the lights shined the path ahead. Dick stood in front of you, blocking your chance of leaving. He had never seen you run from your problems like this, you were always the level headed one between you and Bruce.

Losing him changed you, a lot. Dick had been with you for less than an hour and you seemed like a completely different person. He felt like the parent right now, never did he feel like that with you.

"Get out of the car, (Y/N)," Dick urged. His gold chain shined in the bright light. It had been a long time since you had seen him in just his civvies. For a second, you swore he looked like the little boy that you had first accepted into your home, not this full fledged adult. You squeezed your eyes shut, accepting that he was right and you needed to face this.

The lights flicked off and Dick now stood at your car door. You stood at his side once more, head tilted in shame. Dick pulled the cowl off your head, the warm eyes of his adoptive mother were cold. He saw no love within them, no hope for the future.

"You don't belong in that suit," he shook his head. Dick knew that you bared the suit so no one else had to. He knew you were taking this bullet so that you didn't have to see your kids suffer in it. He could see that wearing it was killing you from the inside out. Being that Bat was something that you weren't meant to endure.

"Neither do you," You voice trembled. Being alone these past few weeks, it made it easy to block out your feelings of grief. Now, with Dick being back everything you had bottled up was spilling out like a river.

"Bruce wanted me to take it, never you," Dick argued. He never wanted to be Batman, he wanted to be his own person. Deep down, he knew that this day would come, that he would have to take up the mantle he so desperately tried to run from. "Bruce might not have been the most loving person, but he always wanted what was best for you."

"I need to do this, Dick," you continued. The last thing you wanted to see was Dick to be dragged down by the weight of the cape. He had something good going for him, and coming back to his old home would ruin that. You gestured around to the cave, “this is where I'm meant to be, even if Bruce never wanted it."

"Bruce wanted you to be happy. Wearing that suit is draining you, you can't keep this up," Dick denied. Seeing you like this hurt just as much as pain of Bruce being dead. Growing up, you were always there for him, always the one to help him back up. It seemed you had an endless ray of hope in you. That hope was gone and diminished to nothing. "You have to tell everyone, Damian... He needs to know."

"How am I supposed to look him in the eye and tell him his father is dead?" You pleaded. Dick sighed, this was going to be the hardest conversation you would ever have. It needed to be done, everyone needed to know. The world needed to know, Bruce Wayne was a public figure, they couldn't hide this forever.

Dick never answered you. He didn't know how to answer you. You pushed past him, peeling off the suit as you headed towards the computers. Dick wasn't going to let you go out that night, not in that suit. You'd be surprised if he let you go out at all again.

The screen lit up and for the first time since Bruce's death, you hovered over the emergency contacts. Everyone needed to know, The Justice League, the family, you needed to be the one to tell them. Your heart clenched as you sent the message to your family saying to come home, immediately.

Dick placed his hand on your shoulder. He was going to be the one to help you through telling everyone. You were making the right choice, this secret couldn't go on for any longer. When everyone knew, then they would decide who would take the suit, who would become Batman again.

You hoped that it would be you.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne one shot #bruce wayne x batmom #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfam #batmom #batmom imagines #batmom x batfamily #batfam x batmom #batfam one shot #batmom!reader #dickgrayson #dc one shot #dc imagine #dc #angst

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jaskicr · 4 years

Text

fae witcher jaskier

aka the most self indulgent thing i’ve ever written in my entire life as i combine my favourite tropes of fae jaskier, witcher jaskier, and identity porn

the school of the manticore is experimenting with alchemical formulas to create witchers, not just from humans, but from other humanoid creatures as well (such as elves, fae, and vampires)

jaskier is a curious fae who wanders into the human world, but he’s taken by some manticore witchers and experimented on

but they didn’t expect him to be such a powerful fae and he resists their efforts to experiment on him, so to subdue him, they brainwash him

they take his memories of being fae, making him docile, and successfully turn him into a witcher

the mutations make jaskier’s fae features even more prominent - he has pointed ears, horns, deadly sharp teeth, claws, and he’s very tall, with fully black eyes (like he’s under the effects of a potion) and white hair

due to this, he’s ostracised even amongst the witchers in the manticore school - with the exception of those who experimented on him, they all think that the mutations made him monstrous and they don’t know that he’s fae

at this point, he’s mutated beyond both a fae and a witcher, he’s clearly neither - fae features are generally delicate and elegant, whilst jaskier’s have been made deadly and lethal by the mutations

with the brainwashing, jaskier is very compliant and he lets the witchers train him without complaint

he’s very good at signs, and he’s able to do magic outside of the signs for reasons that he doesn’t know

his trainers are afraid of his magic and try to suppress it, but jaskier’s magic is too connected to nature for them to sever the bond

so when he finally sets out on the path, his trainers keep a really tight leash on him, knowing that his power could mean that he might break out of their control and go back to the fae

jaskier’s appearance is so obviously other that he’s immediately hated by humans, but because of the brainwashing, he’s very passive in the face of their hatred

he just weathers the horrible things that humans call him and how they assault him, and it doesn’t even hurt him because he’s so conditioned not to feel anything

this happens for many years, with jaskier taking contracts and enduring the hatred from humans, and returning to the manticore keep to be conditioned/brainwashed further every winter

one day, tissaia stumbles upon this fae/witcher whose mind is completely and utterly blank, and it just feels wrong

and she knows that whoever did this to jaskier must have been unspeakably cruel, so she takes him in

jaskier is very confused by tissaia’s actions - on the one hand, he’s so used to be docile and passive that he doesn’t want to resist tissaia, but she’s not his trainer so he knows that he shouldn’t trust her

but tissaia calms him, treating him far more gentle than anyone has ever treated him, and jaskier’s instincts tell him to trust her

tissaia quickly grows fond of jaskier, who’s inhumanly tall and monstrous but oh-so-sweet and gentle, and she slowly undoes his brainwashing and helps him become more human

but jaskier’s trainers realise that his brainwashing is being undone, and they decide to go after him

tissaia, who’s now become protective of jaskier, portals them far away, refusing to let them take him

jaskier is slowly coming to his senses and regaining his memories as they escape, and he becomes desperate not to go back to his trainers

they stumble upon vesemir, who takes one look at jaskier and decides to adopt him, and the three of them run all over the continent to escape jaskier’s trainers, who want jaskier back under their leash

but tissaia becomes exhausted, and she tells jaskier that the only way he can escape his handlers is to let her strip all their brainwashing/conditioning from him completely

but it might take years or even decades, and it would hurt his body a lot, so she offers to transfer his consciousness to a human body while she works on healing his witcher body/mind

and jaskier agrees, because he’s so close to remembering his fae family and fully regaining his magic, and he refuses to be under the control of the manticore school again

so he’s reborn as julian alfred pankratz in lettenhove, while tissaia and vesemir fake jaskier’s death and spread rumours of it across the continent

jaskier, now human, grows up without any knowledge of his past, even after he goes to oxenfurt, even after he starts travelling with geralt

tissaia checks in on jaskier every once in a while, and vesemir asks after the bard who’s travelling with geralt to keep tabs on jaskier

however, tissaia hadn’t anticipated how strong the brainwashing had been, so it’s taking decades for her to strip it away without utterly destroying jaskier’s mind

one day, geralt is hunting a fae, who lures geralt and jaskier into the fae realm

the fae realm somehow manages to connect to jaskier’s consciousness/his magic, and all of a sudden he regains his memories from his life in the fae realm (but not his memories from being a witcher)

so he remembers growing up as a fea, he remembers his family, but there’s a huge gap between that and his life as a human bard

as geralt is trying to find the fae, jaskier is stumbling around, confused by his identity and his sudden influx of memories, but he knows that something is missing

while this happens, tissaia feels a surge of magic in jaskier’s real body and realises that something must have happened, and jaskier’s body starts destabilising

and she knows that she needs to put jaskier’s consciousness back into his body before it implodes due to the magic

meanwhile, as jaskier stumbles through the fae realm, recognising different places that he used to go to, he suddenly catches a glimpse of his sister, all grown up

and he tries to leave geralt to talk to her and tell her that it’s him, but right before he can do that, tissaia grabs his consciousness and yanks it back into his real body

jaskier’s human body drops dead once his conciousness leaves it, and geralt hears his breathing and his heartbeat stop, and he grieves

in a fit of grief and fury, he hunts down and kills the fae who had lured them here

this angers the rest of the fae, and geralt is quickly overpowered by them and he’s taken to a dungeon

and he just sort of accepts his fate, letting them take him without putting up a fight, because jaskier is dead

as he’s awaiting trial, geralt thinks that he won’t even mind being exeuted. after all, jaskier is gone, and what’s the point?

at the same time, jaskier wakes up in his real body with tissaia hovering over him, his last memory being seeing his sister and being in the fae realm with geralt

all his memories return to him in one go, and it’s so overwhelming to have three lives (fae, witcher, bard) in his head and jaskier has a bit of an identity crisis

and then he remembers that geralt is alone in the fae realm, which immediately makes him forget about his identity crisis for the moment as he readies himself to go after geralt

tissaia tries to stop him, telling him that he needs to recover, but jaskier needs to get to geralt right now

when he tries to walk, he stumbles a bit, forgetting how tall he is in his real body, but he powers through - even if his coordination is awful, he needs to go and save geralt. who knows what the fae could have done to him by now?

and he portals himself to the fae realm where he left geralt behind, only to see his own dead body, and the dead body of the fae that geralt had been hunting - but no one else

when he smells geralt’s tears, he realises what must have happened, and he panics since the fae must have taken geralt, but he doesn’t know where

he tracks down his sister, who doesn’t recognise him at first due to the changes the mutations had given him, but when she does, she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly in a tearful reunion

(it’s very cute, jaskier is tall enough that he dwarfs her and can pet her head)

jaskier’s sister tells him what happened to geralt, and jaskier heads off to save his witcher

none of the fae expect geralt to be rescued, so it’s laughably easy for jaskier to sneak to the dungeon and find geralt

and while he’s on the way to the dungeon, jaskier wonders whether geralt would hate him now that he’s little more than a monster

so when he does find geralt, jaskier pretends not to know him, and due to jaskier’s different appearance, geralt doesn’t recognise him despite a faint sense of familiarity

he’s confused why this large, not-quite-a-fae is helping him, and geralt can tell that he’s sort of a witcher, but not really

but jaskier’s dead, and geralt really doesn’t want to be rescued, so he pleads, ‘please, leave me to die’

jaskier is horrified and picks geralt up, knowing that he can’t just let geralt die, and geralt is fighting him - he doesn’t even know this fae/witcher

jaskier portals them to his sister’s house, and geralt passes out from his injuries

jaskier and his sister patch geralt up, all while his sister teases him for having a crush on geralt, which jaskier tries (and fails) to deny

when geralt is unconscious, jaskier sings to him, the way he always had whenever he used to treat geralt’s injuries after a hunt

and geralt, fading in and out of consciousness, thinks he hears jaskier, but surely that can’t be true - after all, jaskier’s dead

when he fully regains consciousness, he sees the large fae witcher who’d rescued him

‘who the fuck are you?’ he demands, slightly pissed that he hadn’t been left for the dead

and jaskier, who still doesn’t want geralt to know who he is, panics and introduces himself as julian

it takes him a while, but jaskier manages to convince geralt that he’s trustworthy - after all, the fae can’t lie, and when jaskier tells geralt that he’s safe, that he doesn’t mean any harm, geralt tentatively relaxes

with geralt still injured, he can’t leave the house even though he just wants to go back to kaer morhen and grieve jaskier, so he stays

jaskier helps him around the house whenever he needs to get around, and geralt is too weak to stand on his own, so he leans on jaskier as he walks (jaskier is tall enough that geralt only comes up to his chest, which geralt finds very nice and warm)

and as days pass, geralt realises that, despite his imposing size, julian is soft and gentle and caring, and it makes his head spin, because only jaskier has ever been this gentle to him

meanwhile, jaskier is having an internal crisis - over his identity, over his memories, but also over geralt

because he knows that geralt thinks he’s dead, so jaskier concludes that he can pretend to be a whole new person who’s decidedly not jaskier, and geralt would never know - after all, jaskier’s human body is dead

and jaskier thinks that’s better for both of them, because he doesn’t want to taint geralt’s memories of human jaskier since he’s a monster now

jaskier’s sister is just done with him, she tries to slap some sense into him but he insists on not telling his true identity to geralt

so geralt feels safe around julian in a way he’s only ever felt around jaskier, but he doesn’t suspect anything

(there’s one morning when geralt wakes up to julian spooning him from behind, and he feels so safe, so cared for. he feels seen)

as he recovers, he realises that he really doesn’t want to leave - julian is so nice to him, and geralt wants nothing more than to stay here with julian

but part of geralt feels like he’s betraying jaskier, even though he’s dead - julian makes him feel like jaskier did, and gods, he misses jaskier so much

so geralt pretends that he’s reocvering slower than he really is, and jaskier pretends not to know what geralt’s doing, and one day, geralt stumbles and falls backwards, and jaskier catches him

geralt realises that their faces are really close as he stares into endless black eyes, and he’s unable to stop himself from pulling julian into a kiss

all while he tries not to feel guilty about it, because he feels like he’s kissing jaskier, but it’s julian

and jaskier is stunned that geralt would even want to kiss him in this form, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he kisses back, and internally decides that he won’t ever tell geralt who he really is

jaskier and julian can be two separate people - let geralt remember jaskier as a human, not a monster

after that, they get closer and more intimate, and jaskier tells geralt about his trials and what the manticore school had done to him

geralt’s heart aches for this kind man who’s been through so much, who’s suffered so much, and yet, he’s still so gentle and caring

he asks how julian how he’s escaped the manticore school and regained his memories, and jaskier panics

‘... um...’ he stutters. ‘... magic?’

and geralt gets slightly suspicious because julian is hiding something, and he tries not to think about the fact that julian has the same tell that jaskier did when he was lying

geralt knows that julian physically can’t lie, but clearly, he’s hiding the truth, but julian keeps avoiding the question whenever geralt asks, making him more suspicious, but he decides that julian can have this secret

after all, it’s not harming geralt or anything, and he trusts julian

then geralt fully recovers, and he’s reluctant to leave julian, so he shyly asks julian to join him on the path so they can go witchering together

of course jaskier agrees, beyond joyful that geralt wants his company, even now, and before they leave, jaskier’s sister tries to talk sense into him one more time, but jaskier is still too dumb to listen to her

as they set out on the path, jaskier realises just how much he misses singing, how much he misses playing the lute

he hasn’t sung since rescuing geralt, since he doesn’t want geralt to recognise his voice, and he hasn’t played his lute since it was broken by the fae after his human body died

besides, he can’t really hold a lute now - he’s too big, and it would break in his hands

as they sit together one night, geralt quietly tells julian about jaskier, his heart aching and grieving

when jaskier freezes up, geralt thinks that he’s jealous and gently teases him for that, despite the pain in his heart as he tries not to compare how similar they are

in fact, jaskier’s just panicking a lot, and he tries to act normal

they’re both really dumb

that night, jaskier is lying awake when he suddenly hears geralt having a nightmare about losing jaskier

he’s whimpering, voice pained and fearful, ‘no, please, jaskier, please don’t go, i can’t lose you -’

and jaskier tries to soothe geralt, but it doesn’t work and geralt thrashes harder, going deeper into the nightmare

then jaskier remembers that the only way he used to be able to calm geralt down from a nightmare was to sing, and he can’t bear to thrash and scream in his sleep, filled with grief and anguish

so jaskier sings

he sings geralt’s favourite songs, the ones that always loosened geralt’s shoulders and made him smile, and as he watches geralt relax, he falls asleep as well

the next morning, geralt wakes up before jaskier, remembering his nightmare, and he knows that he heard jaskier’s voice

grief almost threatens to overwhelm him because he must have hallucinated jaskier’s voice, but then he realises that if the singing hadn’t been real, he wouldn’t have been able to return to sleep, and he would’ve woken up instead

so geralt knows that someone must have sung to him - had julian sung to him

and he twists to look at julian, who’s curled around him, and he looks closer

geralt thinks of the way julian would hold him gently, the way only jaskier had, thinks of the way julian made him smile and laugh the way jaskier did, thinks of how only julian and jaskier had ever cared for him like that

and it makes sense now, why julian had kept a secret about regaining his memories, because it must have been tied to jaskier somehow, and it makes sense why julian decided to just come and rescue him

jaskier is alive, and geralt hadn’t known

but jaskier is real, and he’s here, and though geralt is mad that jaskier hadn’t told him, his joy at jaskier being alive makes him forget his anger

when jaskier wakes up, blinking blearily at geralt with a soft, lazy smile, geralt says, ‘jaskier?’

and he prays that he’s right, because he’ll be shattered if jaskier is truly dead -

and jaskier responds, exhaustion slurring his words, ‘yes, geralt?’

then he realises what he did, and he freezes, but geralt gentle pulls him into a kiss, and jaskier relaxes

‘why did you never tell me?’ geralt asks when he pulls away, light and buoyant with love and joy

jaskier has no choice but to confess

‘i didn’t want you to remember my human self as a monster,’ jaskier murmurs, looking away. ‘i wanted to keep jaskier and julian separate, so i wouldn’t taint your memories of me.’

‘you’re not a monster,’ geralt says fiercely, tracing jaskier’s face with gentle fingers, tracing over his horns and his ears, brushing under his eyes and over his teeth.

‘but i am,’ jaskier insists, spreading his arms. ‘look at me, geralt. how am i not a monster? why would you want to remember me, my human self, as this - this monstrous thing?’

geralt’s heart breaks for him, and he tugs jaskier into a tight embrace, peppering him with kisses.

‘you’re beautiful,’ geralt whispers, and jaskier sucks in a breath at the sincerity in his voice. ‘you’re not a monster, jaskier. and i’ll love you no matter who you are, no matter what you look like. it doesn’t matter to me.’

‘even like - like this?’ jaskier asks, vulnerable, as he gestures to his too-large body, to his mutated features.

‘especially like this,’ geralt says, and kisses him

as jaskier wraps his arms around geralt, and geralt tips his head up to meet jaskier’s lips, they feel warm, they feel loved, they feel whole

(afterwards, they travel the continent together, hunting monsters and killing the people who had experimented on jaskier, and they get a glamour for jaskier so he can be a bard again, they get married on the coast and they live happily ever after)

someone once asked how many AUs of i have often dreamed of a far off place can i write, and i think that this might be my third one... with a fourth version that i dumped into the wj server earlier today oops?

#geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fae jaskier #witcher jaskier #witcher!jaskier #buffskier #mine*#thank you to the rbb server for suggesting this wonderful thing #i spent an hour typing this into the wj server and another hour compiling this into a post

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andie-cake · 3 years

Note

perhabs,, early relationship, Paul wanting affection but being anxious and not knowing how to go about it?

Ceej, you understand me and my Paul hcs on a spiritual level, thank you for my rights and an excuse to write soft nonsense. It's uh... It's a little long.

Being in an honest-to-god romantic relationship was taking a bit of re-getting used to for Paul. He hadn't dated anyone since college, and suddenly wham, he's head over heels for a cute, snarky barista who seems to return his affections. It was odd, but no less wonderful, feeling his heart flutter in his chest whenever Emma so much as smiled at him. He hadn't felt this way about someone in damn near a decade, and then this beautiful 5'0 biology student walked into his life, and god, his brain just didn't know how to handle it.

Paul and Emma had started seeing each other around late October, hooking up in the Beanies break room during a Halloween party her boss Nora had thrown. It was mid-December now, a week and a half before Christmas, and things were still going strong between them. Though there had been... something strange on Paul's mind for a few weeks now, something that had never bothered him before in his past relationships.

Paul was a tactile guy with people he liked, something his friends all knew well. He was never sure exactly how he'd rank the five love languages as applied to himself, but touch was definitely his number one. Casual shoulder squeezes and light nudges were common gestures of his among friends, as Bill could easily attest. With romantic partners, this was cranked up a bit. Lots of light kisses to their temple or resting his hand on their back, stuff like that. It was always the easiest way for him to show that he cared. His partners... were never as tactile as him. It was very all give and no take on Paul's end when it came to physical affection, and he hadn't really minded it. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't...

But now? With Emma? Her touch was something he actively craved. And it's not as if Emma never touched him outside of sex, far from it, she was probably the most physically affectionate partner Paul had ever had. She held his hand, kissed his cheek, cuddled up against him during movie nights, and gave him playful little jabs in the side when he was being a smartass. But she wasn't quite as casually affectionate as Paul was with her, and he couldn't help but wish she was.

And sweet jesus christ, did Paul find it embarrassing. It made him feel like some dopey lovesick teenager whenever he thought about it. Like, what was he supposed to do? Ask her to touch him more often? He'd sound like a total fucking weirdo if he tried to explain it to her. But still, he couldn't help but think about it a lot.

It had been a lazy Sunday evening, the one day of the week when neither half of the couple had work. And of course, they were... taking advantage of their day off, as it were. On Paul's living room couch, no less. They'd just finished up, and Emma had gone off to use his shower and whatnot. After washing up a bit, Paul had promptly put some comfy sleepwear on (because it was December in Michigan and Paul was not one to lounge around in the nude with temperatures like that outside), and was now absentmindedly channel surfing whilst laying on the couch.

Nearly half an hour later, Emma had emerged from the bathroom, hair tied into a braid and clad in a bright red hoodie that Paul recognized as his own. He couldn't help but smile, it was so big on her, and she looked adorable in it.

"Find anything to watch while I was in there?" she asked.

"Hallmark movies, a bunch of stock Christmas faire, and like three separate Harry Potter marathons," Paul replied. "None of which I'm particularly interested in watching, so we might have to retreat to the DVD shelf again."

Emma shrugged. "Hey, fine by me, TV edits are usually garbage fires anyway," she said. She strode over to the other side of the living room, where Paul kept his DVDs, and eyed the shelf. After a minute or two, she plucked a case off the shelf, snickering. "Monty Python: Life of Brian, that's a Christmas movie, right?"

"Absolutely," Paul quipped. "Anything can be a Christmas movie if you stretch the definition enough."

"Good, because I wanna watch Monty Python."

After popping the disk in, she turned back to the couch, and Paul sat up to give her some room. As she sat back down, Paul took in the sight of her. God, she was lovely. And she looked so cozy in his hoodie, it was hard not to find the sight of her absolutely heart-melting. His heart fluttered a bit, he was getting that feeling again. Unfortunately, Paul found himself staring at her instead of the screen for a bit too long, and she took notice.

"Paul?" she piped up, snapping him out of his trance with a befuddled smile. "You good, babe?"

Paul felt his cheeks flush. Had she ever called him "babe" before? "It's, uh... it's nothing," he stammered unconvincingly. "I just zoned out for a bit."

Emma, being the observant person she was, eyed him with skepticism. "You look like you have something on your mind," she noted. "What's up?"

Well, shit. Feeling his face burn hotter, Paul attempted to weasel himself out of this inevitable awkward conversation.

"N-nothing's up, I'm fine!" he tried to assure her, perhaps too defensively to sound convincing.

"That's the voice of a man who definitely has something up," Emma observed. She grabbed the remote, and paused the film before continuing. "Something's bothering you, Paul, I can tell."

"It-it's just..." Paul tried to begin, feeling momentarily reassured by Emma's soft gaze. But when the right words wouldn't come to him, he groaned and buried his flushing face in his hands. God, why was he like this? "Nevermind, it's really stupid, can we just watch the movie, please?"

"Paul, I know stupid, I work at Beanies," Emma retorted playfully, earning a brief chuckle from Paul. "Whatever's bothering you, it can't be any worse than the shit my co-workers complain about on the daily. I promise you I won't laugh."

Paul removed his hands from his face, meeting her gentle gaze once more. "You mean it?"

She nodded. "I'm all ears."

Exhaling a deep breath, Paul took a moment to think of how to word his self-imposed predicament in the least stupid way possible. Probably best to start small.

"Um, y'know how... when we watch movies or whatever together," he began, trying to force himself to talk above a whisper. "You'll like, lean against my chest, and I'll wrap my arms around you and play with your hair and all that?"

Emma nodded, looking somewhat confused. "Yeah...?"

"Do you think we could... do that the other way around this time?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and Paul was pretty sure his face had turned a shade of red that had only ever been seen by shrimp before. Jesus, that must've sounded so stupid.

"That's all?" Emma asked.

Yep, there it was. Paul looked down at his lap again, embarrassed beyond belief. "Basically, yeah..." he chuckled despite himself. "I know, I know, it's really dumb, and I probably got you all worried for nothing-"

"Whoa, whoa, Paul, slow down!" Emma cut him off, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him softly. "I mean, sure! If that's what you want, we can do it!"

Paul took another deep breath. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Emma replied. She leaned back on the arm of the couch, and opened her arms. "Come on, bring it in."

Still nervous and flustered, Paul slowly eased himself against Emma, resting his head against her chest. He could feel her heartbeat, even through the thick fabric of the hoodie. Emma rested one hand on his back, and began to thread her fingers through his hair, just like he would do with her. Paul felt a chill go down his spine. God, he forgot how much he loved having his hair stroked. He wrapped his arms around her torso, face still flushing like nobody's business.

"How's that?" Emma asked, undoubtedly noticing the ridiculous smile that had forced itself onto his face.

"Wonderful..." he sighed, finally beginning to calm down a bit. "Thanks, Emma."

"No prob," Emma snickered, still stroking his hair. "But before we un-pause the movie, can I ask why it was such an ordeal for you to ask me about this?"

"It's kinda hard to articulate," Paul explained, adjusting himself so that he wasn't muffled by the hoodie. "My, um... my past partners weren't really the, uh... the affectionate kinda types, y'know? So it just kinda felt weird to ask you to... do this... I guess..."

"...Well," Emma began after a moment's pause. "I'm not your past partners, so I'd be more than happy to do this more often."

"You would?" Paul inquired hopefully.

"If it makes you feel as loved as it makes me feel," Emma said, rubbing a calming circle between his shoulder blades with her thumb. "Then I'll do it anytime."

Paul could've melted right then and there. He was loved... In a somewhat indirect way, Emma said she loved him. Perhaps now was the time...

"Thanks again, Em," he said, slightly choked up. He craned his neck a bit to press a kiss to her neck. "I, um... I love you."

Emma briefly paused in her stroking of his hair, only to resume moments later, and press a kiss to his forehead.

"I... I love you too, Paul."

#hatchetfield #paulkins

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angelanimedesaray · 3 years

Text

Wings in the Dark Chapter 6: Stories From the Dark

AN: I feel like this chapter should have been posted around Halloween, but there was NO WAY I was waiting that long XD Also its a bit short, I think, to me, it goes a little quick, partially because I didn’t want to have to write Levi wandering around this little town this whole time having all this meaningless chit-chat meant to fish information, I decided summarizing was best with detail where it counted XD

Characters: Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader (Mentioned), Erwin, Various OCs and BG Characters

Pairing: (Eventual) Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Murder Aftermath, Description of Fatal Injuries, Description of Buried Alive, Descriptions of Injuries, Language

Word Count: 5188

<----Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter---->

*Levi's POV*

While taking such a sudden few days off might have caused a couple bumps in the way things were developing around HQ, but he knew Erwin would be able to handle it and smooth things over, so he stayed focused on the task at hand.

Stripped of any signia, symbol, or uniform resembling clothes that could suggest that he was part of the military, Levi was dressed in plainclothes, having taken a carriage out to L/N’s supposed hometown early in the morning. He still arrived with plenty of time in the day to investigate the town and see what he could find on-site, taking in the small, easily overlooked town that was more of a loose collection of homes bordered by farms, with a central farmer’s market to keep some local trade and business going. Any serious buying and selling probably consisted in a day’s trip to one of the larger towns within Wall Rose, but it seemed they had basic foodstuffs here. He managed to find a blacksmith tucked away in a corner between a small grouping of houses, as well as an old, empty building that had a weathered carpentry sign in front of it. So there had been more trade smiths around here, before the town gradually lost those businesses.

Talking casually with the blacksmith informed Levi that a ways past the farms, there was a home that was the reason for most of their outside visitors--people who could afford to would put their elderly loved ones in the care center, and there was a separate building for the mentally ill to live comfortably and get the care they needed as well. Visitors to the town usually consisted of relatives visiting their loved ones in the homes, or they were descendants that had moved away but came back for the occasional hometown or family visit.

Which meant Levi, having no ties himself and not knowing about the homes, stuck out a bit despite his best efforts. The communities of small towns were tightly knit and they knew their own, so it couldn’t be helped, and he would have to deal with the fact everyone was going to be curious why he was here.

While talking with the blacksmith, he also heard that the carpentry shop had been the family trade for the Frazier family--the family who lost the daughter sharing L/N’s first name. With the murder of their only child, there was no one to take on the family business, and the building had fallen into disrepair after the parents had gone to the home outside town.

That had caught Levi’s interest. They’d been in the home for years judging from the sign alone, and the impression he’d received was that only the well off could supply their own stay at the home, or their family members paid for it. If there were no children to pay for them, and they’d only been a small carpentry business in a no-name town, how could they afford to be in the home? He doubted it was by the grace of the community, though it was a possibility considering the tragedy that had happened here.

Moving on from the blacksmith so he didn’t ask too many questions in one place, Levi made a mental note to make his way up to the homes to investigate the still-living parents of the original Y/N. Making his way to the farmer’s market, Levi perused for any small town hidden treasures and struck up conversations, looking for a town gossip to get talking about the town’s history so that he could eventually hear the more personal tale of the double homicide than the technical report Erwin had scrounged up for him.

While trying to get the man selling the baked goods to be a little more forthcoming, Levi overheard a small group of children, three or four gathered around each other as one of the older children attempted to scare the smallest of the group with a surprisingly gristly tale.

“...clawed at the wood of the coffin, screaming for someone to hear her, too afraid to realize her screams took up what little air she had. Her fingernails broke and blood coated the coffin, her elbow busted open as she pounded and shrieked for help, but no one could hear her so far beneath the dirt. Some say she did manage to break the wood, but halfway through the dirt falling on her she couldn’t breathe, and body’s still frozen in her silent scream, so close to freedom, no one above ground aware of the terror she felt before she truly died. Now, so she doesn’t feel so alone, Screaming Sally’s ghost crawls out of her grave and drags children like you from their beds and drags them into her coffin below ground.”

The poor youngest was visibly trembling, tears of fright in their eyes before one of the other kids shouted and grabbed them, making the youngest shriek and cry as they laughed and continued to pick on them.

“Tch.” Levi turned to them, a glare in his eyes that he pinned on the older kids who should have known better. “Oi! Cut it out.”

Spooked by the scary voice, and even more so by the scary man they saw glaring at them, the older kids bolted, with the youngest running away once they were free of the older kids, most likely to run home and find comfort from a parent.

Levi turned his attention back to the stall in front of him, a woman beside him buying a basket of rolls as he scowled over the childishly cruel display he’d just seen.

“That’s one messed up horror story for kids to be telling each other,” he muttered, paying for a loaf of bread and waiting for the man to finish wrapping it for him. The woman beside him turned with a small shrug.

“All the children around here know about that stupid story about Screaming Sally. It’s been around for decades, and at this point, it’s almost a rite of passage to hear it eventually.”

Levi looked at her, sensing he might have someone who would be willing to share if he asked the right questions. “How did it start?”

The woman sighed, shaking her head. “Some poor caretaker for the graveyard by the woods about forty years back snapped after that double homicide and started trying to tell people one of the girls crawled out of her grave. Everyone knows it’s impossible, not to mention the grave was undisturbed when folks checked in the morning after seeing how sincere he was. They had to put him in the home because he kept insisting he saw it, and eventually the story turned into the Screaming Sally legend the kids are always sharing to scare each other.”

Levi’s head tilted slightly to the side, eyes widening momentarily in surprise as the unsuspected connection jumped out at him.

For the briefest moment, he was looking back up at Kenny years ago as Kenny shared some outlandish story to try and scare him. When Levi had called out it’s legitimacy and accused him of spewing a nonsense legend that wasn’t even possible, he’d suddenly appeared a little serious, a small frown appearing beneath the brim of that signature hat of his as he gave Levi the reply that now rang in his ears.

“There’s always a little truth to every legend.”

Pretending his surprise was over something else the woman had said, Levi took the chance to try and pry the local story from her.

“Double homicide? Out here?” Levi asked, suggesting that kind of thing never happened in places like this.

In his opinion, they were more likely to happen out here, since it was so damn isolated.

As Levi took his wrapped loaf, the two started to walk together, just a little further down the path as she indulged his curiosity.

“I know--it’s the darkest stain on this town’s history. Still unsolved, too--one of those locked room murders I think they call them. Y/N Frazier and Victoria Schultz. The Fraziers’ daughter had been out late the night before and came to her parent’s home to rest instead of going back to her own home. She was sick the entire next day, and her best friend Victoria came to visit her. Sometime between the moment Victoria and Y/N were in the room together to the time the Fraziers checked in on them a few hours later, some psychopath managed to find their way into the room, tore Victoria apart beyond recognition, and disappeared with the Frazier girl. Without the Fraziers hearing anything amiss! The police thought it might have been the Frazier girl, because it was the only possible explanation considering the bedroom door was locked and any attacker would have had to come in through the window, and neither girl made a sound, so perhaps Victoria knew her attacker--but Y/N’s body showed up on the edge of the woods a few days later, poor girl. They never found out who did it, or what exactly happened. It still haunts the people in the town who are old enough to remember it.”

As the woman spun the more personal version of the tale, Levi’s mind filled in the gristly details that had been in the report he’d read. How there had been hardly any blood left in the mutilated girl left behind lying on the bed, but far less in the room than there should have been, how L/N’s namesake had been found lying just within the forest’s edge, neck bruised and broken, as well as several bones, covered in bruises and lacerations. It was a closed-casket funeral for both. They had no leads, no one with a motive, no mysterious footprint or shadowy figure seen leaving the crime scene. They’d just been murdered out of nowhere, and nothing like it had happened anywhere near the town ever since. It was a sudden, violent anomaly in their history, and one that was going to leave a mark that would never disappear.

Levi said goodbye to the woman with the bread roll basket, standing in the middle of the road with his gaze turned towards the homes he’d been told about, a thoughtful frown on his face.

It seemed he had two reasons to visit this place: the Fraziers and the caretaker.

Once there, as curious as he was, Levi decided against visiting the Fraziers and asking about the events of forty years ago. From what he’d been able to dig up, it was likely something that still haunted them to this day, and he wasn’t here to terrorize the elderly.

He did, however, pry into who was paying for their stay at the home. Once at the front desk, he suggested that he wanted to pay for their stay, asking after the amount it would take and how often, before insisting whatever payments they were making themselves stop so they wouldn’t have to pay out of their own pockets. At that point, he’d been politely turned down, the secretary informing him that the Fraziers already had an angel donor who was paying regularly for their stay at the home.

“Can I get a name so I can talk to them about splitting the payments?” Levi asked, leaning forward slightly in anticipation.

“I’m sorry, but...angel donors are what we call anonymous donors who don’t have any ties to the family but still pay for their care. We don’t know who makes the payments, only that they’re made regularly and on time, so Mr. and Ms. Frazier can spend the rest of their days here. I have no name to give you, not that I could, considering that would be sensitive information,” the secretary said politely, though there was a bit of a chill in her voice brought about by Levi’s questioning. He ignored it, busy mulling over this new detail.

He had no evidence to support it, no reason to suspect it, but what if the angel donor was L/N? He knew she was looking for ways to cut costs with how she spent her money, it was one of the reasons she had the tea garden at HQ--it would save her money in the future by cutting costs she spent on things like tea. And her lack of personal belongings could also be from a lack of money to buy nice things for herself. What if the money she saved from her salary was going towards the Fraziers’ well-being?

Again, he had no evidence. It was just a thought, a far-fetched theory, but it was something to take note of and consider, just in case it wasn’t far off the mark.

Getting the hint from the secretary and knowing he was at a dead end as to who was taking care of the Fraziers, at least for what he would find here in town, Levi moved on to the next objective.

“All right, well, I also came to talk to someone in the psychiatric home. He used to be a cemetery caretaker about forty years ago.”

Recognition immediately sparked in her eyes, as well as a bit of apprehension. “We’ll need you to sign in, as well as put down a reason for visiting.”

“Fine,” Levi replied, taking the paper she slid over and writing Jacob, no last name--not that he’d have one to give even if he was using his actual name--and then wrote down social visit before handing it over. Her eyebrows rose slightly and her gaze flickered up to him from the paper, and Levi gazed back at her calmly, waiting patiently for her to at least direct him the proper way.

“Room seventeen. Follow me,” she said, leading them out the door--since they’d been in the home for the elderly--and a little ways away to the other building that acted as the psychiatric home. Once inside she led Levi up two flights of stairs and down a fairly long hall to let Levi into the room marked seventeen in white paint. “Mr. Briarton, you have a visitor,” she said after opening the door, allowing Levi to step into the room and take in a man in his late fifties, early sixties, suspicious pale green eyes narrowed at Levi as he stepped inside.

“I don’t knows you,” the man rasped.

“Jacob,” Levi said bluntly, stepping deeper into the room and staying conscious of the fact the secretary was temporarily lingering to make sure everything was going to be all right. “I came to hear your story.”

“Hah? Here to mock an old man?” Briarton sneered.

“No. Just to listen,” Levi responded simply. Briarton sized Levi up for a moment, then looked at the secretary still standing in the doorway and gave a small wave.

“We’re fine, Janice, you can leave now. I’s knows the rest of you’s is tired of hearin’ my tale.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Briarton.”

“Eh,” he grumbled, and Janice sighed and shut the door, leaving the two of them behind. “Why exactly are you’s interested in hearin’ my story? Everyone else says I’m’s crazy. Locked me up for it, too!”

“I’ve heard the town legends. Someone I knew used to say there’s always a bit of truth to the legends. So I’m here looking for the truth,” Levi answered, leaning up against the wall with arms folded over his chest.

“Hmm…” Briarton hummed, contemplating Levi’s reason before he sighed. “I’s guessin’ you’s already heard ‘bout the murders, if you’s here.”

At Levi’s nod, Briarton skipped over the events that came before, and went right to talking about the burial. “Closed caskets they’s were. Victoria had a pine box, Mr. Frazier insisteds on makin’ Y/N’s hisself, out of willow. We’s buried them midday, six feets down in the grounds, six feets dried earth on those boxes. I’s told they’s were both dead for sures, no comin’ back--specially poor Victoria. Schultz’s weren’t allowed to sees hers it was so bad. Course we’s all thoughts abouts it, we’s all hoped back then the killer’d get caught. People kept comin’ by till it gots too dark and I’s closed the cemetery for the’s night. My’s job was to make sure no ones messed with the graves, and I’s was patrollin’ like usual, and for the’s longest time, I didn’t hear nut-thin. But sometime in the wee hours of the mornin’, as I’s was comin’ up on the girls’s graves, I saw somethin’ movin on the ground on tops of one. I’s went to yells at them, to tell ‘em kids to scram, cause that’s what I’s thoughts they were. But when I’s got close enough to see a bit better, I’s realized they’s was comin’ up from the ground--outta the ground. I’s was frozen in place, watchin’ them’s drag themselves out of the dirt, clawin’ across the ground likes a wounded animal. I’s was tryin’ to scream, but I’s couldn’t makes a sound.”

Briarton stopped, his wide eyes turned towards Levi. “Do you’s know how heavy the dirts is on a coffin? How hard it is to break open a coffin? Impossible’s what it is! My’s brother once locked me’s in one to scares me, and my’s mother lost it whens she found out. I’s was kickin’ and screamin’ for what’s felt like hours tryin’ to break out, but all I’s got from it was bloody hands and elbows. Ands that was without the dirts on tops of it. But I’s swears this girl busted out and crawled outta hers grave. Even if she’s managed to breaks the coffin, she’d’da been crushed bys the dirts. But she’s still crawled outta hers grave. She’s stood up, covered in fresh bloods and dirts, and she’s shoved dirt backs into the hole she’s crawled outta like a drunkard, gaspin’ and wheezin’ and wailin’ like a banshee, an’ then she’s disappears into the night. An’ I’s ran for help, jus’ to get calleds crazy and locked up in here.”

Levi listened to Briarton’s tale in silence, studying the man’s face closely as he spoke to see if the man truly believed every word he was saying. The terror in the man’s eyes was real, though, as he spoke of the impossibility of the haunting image, and there was no trace of insincerity in his face as he spoke. He truly believed in the tale he was telling. Considering the impossibility of it all, Levi also doubted, but he wasn’t going to call him out on in--enough people already believed this man crazy, Levi wasn’t going to add himself to the mix.

He only had one question.

“Who was the woman who crawled out of her grave?” Levi asked steadily, though the crawl of his skin as he said it told him he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Briarton say it.

“Y/N Frazier.”

The day had cooled--in fact, it was starting to feel chillier, the sun frequently hidden by clouds that seemed to be gathering across the sky, hinting at fouler weather on the horizon. After taking his leave of Briarton at the home, Levi went looking for the now infamous cemetery--infamous in his mind, at least--and had made his way to the grave of one Y/N Frazier, where he now stood in silent contemplation, staring intently at the headstone that had engraved upon its surface the girl’s name, a birthday and date of death that showed she had barely been in her twenties, and a brief, “Beloved Daughter.”

He wasn’t really seeing the grave anymore, though. His mind was a flurry of thoughts, theories, memories, information...none of the connections he’d made here made any kind of sense to him, but there were far too many to be ignored. There was something here, something that seemed to be staring him in the face, but he couldn’t see what it was, so he couldn’t use it. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe Briarton really was crazy, maybe he hadn’t seen Y/N Frazier crawl out of that grave that night and he’d simply snapped like everyone suggested he had. But there was nothing to have caused him to snap, no trigger. Not to mention, the sheer coincidence was far too strong to be a coincidence.

So, he entertained the possibility that the bizarre and impossible happened, that Y/N Frazier somehow survived, a mistake had been made somewhere and she was buried alive, and managed to crawl out of this very grave. Ignoring the impossibility of that scenario still didn’t give him many answers. If Y/N Frazier was still alive, she would have been sixty, seventy years old by now. L/N back at the Scout Headquarters was in her early twenties, and very clearly /not dead/. So, L/N definitely wasn’t this Y/N Frazier.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be related somehow. If the original girl did survive, it would be possible for L/N to be Frazier’s daughter, maybe even grand-daughter, though that was starting to push the theory beyond what he was willing to suspend believing as impossible.

One thing the Screaming Sally horror story had made him remember, and that Briarton’s recounting had brought to the front of his mind to offer him another connection, was the conversation the other day between the rest of his Squad and L/N.

He remembered the tremble in her hand, the stillness in her posture, the flash of soul-deep fear, trauma, and pain in her eyes as L/N had softly stated that her biggest fear was being buried alive.

He had something big here, but he wasn’t sure where it fit in this messed up puzzle he was trying to solve, and was missing some key piece that connected it to something else. He needed more than ever to see what she was doing in the Underground when she snuck out at night--whatever it was, he was convinced at this point it was the missing piece he needed to make sense of all of this.

But first, he needed to do something that would give him a definitive answer amongst all these legends and tall tales.

It was a new low for him, he knew that. The entire ordeal felt wrong and filthy on an entirely new level, but it was something he had to do. No one else had thought to look, to disturb the grave of one of the murdered girls to see if there was any validity to Briarton’s claims, to the stories of Screaming Sally. Everyone brushed it off as nonsense and went about their day, probably because it was so certain, and it was easier to believe the horror stories were nonsense.

Levi didn’t have that luxury. He didn’t have the certainty, and the easier route was not the one he was going to take. He needed answers. So, he’d returned briefly to Headquarters in order to enlist Erwin’s help to give him the opportunity late that very same night to dig up the grave and settle once and for all whether Y/N Frazier had died. It would help clear up some of the questions and theories when he found her body in the coffin, and it might put them back at square one in figuring out why this place and this name had been chosen by Y/N, but it would help bring them back to a world that made some sense, and it would help weed out a few questions that these legends and stories had brought up.

He didn’t want to think of the implications if the grave was empty. He doubted it would be, but if it was...then this entire mess went far deeper than he could ever imagine.

Perhaps that was why Erwin agreed to help him, why he’d paid off the caretaker to make sure the grave was empty but leave the section Levi was going to be in undisturbed until Levi left. Erwin clearly hadn’t approved of disturbing a gravesite, especially the gravesite of a murder victim, but Levi had strongly believed it was necessary despite his own misgivings, so Erwin had relented.

Now, Levi was in a hole that passed his head, digging the last few inches to the willow coffin Y/N Frazier had been buried in, filthy and tired but determined to get to the bottom. Just a little further, and he would have his answer. He would see the bones in an undisturbed grave, fill in the grave once more, go home, wash up, hate himself for a while for doing this to confirm what he already knew, and then go back to trying to figure out why L/N seemed so deeply connected to this place.

He hadn’t found any bodies frozen on its way to the surface, so he could already rule out the legitimacy of the children’s scary story about Screaming Sally, at least.

The shovel Levi was using scraped against something solid, and Levi paused. Here it was. He’d found it.

Kneeling down, Levi started brushing away at dirt so he could find the coffin lid, fingers brushing against wood, hand brushing a little harder to smooth away dirt--

He had to pull his hand back as he unexpectedly came into contact with splintered wood sticking up into the dirt, piercing his hand and drawing blood as he jerked in surprise, breath catching.

No…

A few more careful brushes with his hand, and he was staring at a coffin lid that had been busted open, shards of wood buried in dirt, but the hole clearly enough for a person to crawl out of. He froze where he was as he stared at the sight before him, the odd, irrational fear that a hand was going to burst out of the hole and grasp his wrist strangely flashing through his mind before he pushed it aside. He wasn’t breathing anymore, an admittedly trembling hand reaching out to pull back the lid, just to double check and confirm what he was seeing.

The grave was, in fact, empty. The coffin was busted open with gouges that had old red stains upon them, as if it had been punched and clawed through from the inside.

His blood running cold and his breaths shallow, Levi had to fight not to think of the haunting image Briarton had described, the fear in L/N’s eyes, and the mental image of a woman trapped in this grave screaming and crying for help, having to tear apart her own body and defy all odds to crawl her way to the surface, tried not to imagine the terror of being buried alive like this.

Kenny had been right. There was always a bit of truth to the legend. He never imagined it would be this much truth, though.

When Levi returned to HQ, the first thing he did was clean himself up and get changed. Then, he made himself some of the tea L/N had gifted him, choosing one of the blends meant to calm in the hopes that it would help settle his nerves after what he’d seen.

Outside, he might still appear stoic, but inside, he was shaken.

Once he was clean, he had his tea, and he felt he had a better grip on himself internally and he was ready for the conversation, he went to Erwin’s office and very solemnly relayed his findings to the man, who looked no less disturbed by this unexpected turn of events than Levi had been. They’d expected some kind of secret while digging into the truth about L/N, they hadn’t been expecting a full blown conspiracy on this level.

Once Erwin was up to speed on Levi’s findings, they started to hash out some theories and details, both of them well aware that they were still missing something crucial as they attempted to make a broader picture with the pieces they were currently in possession of.

The running theory they were working with was that Y/N Frazier was L/N’s mother. It was the most logical connection they could come up with, even though it dumped a whole new slew of questions into this mess.

Why did Frazier run after she crawled out of her grave? Why not return to her home and family, alive and well? Why leave the town behind and everyone in it believing she’d died so terribly? Why never come back to tell who had attacked her and her friend Victoria? What happened that night forty years ago? How had she managed to crawl her way out of a grave? Why had she instead disappeared somewhere inside the walls never to be discovered or heard from again, hiding her true identity remarkably well? Or more importantly, how had she been alive? How did she survive those injuries? Had a mistake been made and she’d been assumed dead? Was the report faked?

How was the Underground supposed to come into play in all of this, and what part did L/N have in it as well? If Frazier was indeed L/N’s mother, was Frazier still alive and living in the Underground? Was that why L/N went down there every now and then? Why not bring her mother to the surface with her? Why, when she came to the surface, did L/N take Frazier’s first name and not use her last name? Why not use her real name? How did the events of forty years ago play into now, and how had it had an affect on L/N?

As always, whenever they uncovered something about L/N, it always came with a thousand more questions. They could theorize all they wanted, but it wouldn’t bring them closer to finding the answers that they craved at this point.

And still, despite the shock and the...unease he had felt to find the empty grave and realize the reality of what happened in that town--or at least part of it--Levi still felt like there was another reality altering twist in this dark tale that was unraveling in front of them that would be far worse. He still felt like they were far off the mark, that the still failed to understand the reality of what they were stepping into. More than ever, Levi felt there was something dark behind this, and he began to feel the first hints of malice surrounding these secrets.

Whatever L/N was hiding, at this point, Levi knew it had to be dangerous.

Erwin’s concerned eyes probed Levi’s expression as Levi gazed at the empty teacup in front of him, well aware that despite his feeble attempt to calm his nerves and thoughts, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

“Levi--” Erwin started to say in a grave tone of voice, but Levi cut him off. He knew what Erwin was about to say, and he already knew what he had to do next.

“I know. All I’m waiting for now is for her to make the next move. This time, she won’t shake me.”

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags: @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier@whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea

Wings in the Dark Tags: @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse

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maybedefinitely404 · 3 years

Text

Day 19: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 3)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 is here, with a little added something thrown in! Hope you enjoy!

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 19 - Everyone is born with a compass on their wrist, the needle of the compass points towards your soulmate.

Trigger/content warnings!! Dissociation, PTSD, talk of conversion therapy and aftereffects/internalized homophobia, food mentions, nausea, anxiety/panic attack, unintentionally skipping meals, emetophobia/vomiting, pulling hair (does that count as self harm?).

Word count: 5k

He barely remembered the hospital. It was all just a blur of doctors and police officers and more sleep than he’d gotten in weeks. After the first night of twitching in the dark confines of his hospital room and waking up screaming from nightmares the few brief seconds his consciousness faded, he was given sleeping pills, and the rest of the visit was quickly forgotten. The clearest part of the two week stay was near the end, when he was deemed physically well enough to give a statement to his social worker and a policeman, describing his ‘therapy’ and his life at the foster home, which quickly dissolved into a panic attack. They had enough though, and he was left with a sick satisfaction that they weren’t getting away with what they’d done to him.

They’d lied to him. They had told him the system agreed with what they were doing, allowing it, condoning it. At first, he’d refused to believe them, because that made no sense. But they took his only form of contact, didn’t allow him to leave the house except for therapy, and his eventual addition of medication far too strong for him made him paranoid. Maybe he didn’t believe them as much as he was just trying to survive. He still didn’t know how they’d managed to keep up the charade when they were being checked on bi-weekly; he hadn’t even known when said visits were happening.

“They’ll be spending some time in prison for child abuse. Not nearly enough, but still,” A social worker said quietly as he drove him back to his old group home. Virgil stared numbly out the window. “The kids were taken from them for the time being. They were deemed unfit parents. Foster care until they can find either some relatives or the parents are allowed them back.”

He didn’t react, although his heart nearly stopped in his chest. The parents hadn’t been great, but the kids had been happy enough. And now they were forced into a shoddy system… because of him. Virgil blinked rapidly to stop the tears that threatened to flow.

“You alright, Virge?”

He finally turned from the blurry mass of green trees out the car window, turning blankly to the man driving. The worker glanced from the road to meet his eyes, sighing.

No, he wasn’t alright. But he’d never say otherwise. Volunteering information about himself was how he’d gotten himself into this situation in the first place. He wasn’t about to do it again.

----------

That had been almost a month ago, and he was still to break out of his selective mutism. It wasn’t as if he was choosing not to speak; it wasn’t stubbornness. He felt as if his brain and his mouth were disconnected, like his thoughts were less coherent and more just abstract emotion, and he couldn’t turn them into words. Any question that couldn’t be answered by a simple nod or head shake was met with a blank stare, a far off gaze, that was unnerving to anyone. They’d tried to put him back into therapy, but the moment it was mentioned, Virgil spiralled into the worst panic attack he could ever remember having.

He’d gotten his old room back, with two new kids as his roommates. He quickly built up the same reputation as before: this room is mine unless you’re sleeping. No kid wanted to be near him when he was awake, staring at nothing, his only movements being his occasional blinking. Frankly, the younger ones were scared of him.

And he didn’t care.

Some days he fell so deep into dissociating that he didn’t even react when he was called for dinner. The world around him dissolved, blurry and unfocused and just quiet, retreating into his own mind where he could breathe. Reality was too much. It was just… too much. One of his doctors had said it might be a side effect as they eased him off his criminally high dose of antipsychotics they’d hidden in his drinks, but that was an afterthought. He was warm, he was full (when he was aware enough to eat), and so he faded into his head. He’d cope with his trauma another day.

“You haven’t eaten all day, honey,” A soft voice said and he blinked, looking up from his bed sheets at the worker. She was one of his favorites; gentle, quiet, respecting his boundaries. In her hands was a plate with dinner on it.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, barely more than a single bob, and she sat across from him on the bed, placing the plate in front of him. With heavy hands, he lifted a cold green bean to his mouth. It was gross, but the plate was empty in minutes. Apparently it had been a whole day.

“Virgil, I want to talk to you,” She said. Now full, his brain would let him stay present for a little while until dissociation took over again. He pushed himself back against the wall and brought his knees to his chest, watching her movements.

“It’s not anything bad, I promise. I’ve been talking with some other workers, some connections I have across the state.”

He didn’t like where this was going.

“One of them suggested a couple that’s fostered for over a decade. They have a fantastic record, so I got into contact with them-”

“No.” The first thing he’d said in weeks, his voice scratchy from disuse. For once, the mess in his brain came together to form the single word, an immediate rejection. He pushed himself farther away from her, shaking his head violently. “No, no, no.”

“Virgil, breathe,” She reached out a hand and Virgil flinched so hard his head hit the wall. The hand retreated. “You don’t have to go with them if you’re uncomfortable, hun. Please just trust me, though, they’d never do anything that they did.”

He glared at her, trying to read her expression in the dark room. Silence stretched between them as Virgil’s thoughts drifted back to their state of quietude, leaving him unable to form words, beginning to drift away from reality. His eyelids flickered as focusing became harder, his mind’s eye suddenly alight with the blinding white lights of the therapy room.

“Will you meet them at least, Virgil? Just for a few minutes? And if you still say no after, I’ll never bring them up again.”

He found himself nodding without properly meaning it. He just wanted her to leave… he just wanted to be alone. So he could drift away, without having to fear anyone hurting him anymore.

She left, taking the empty plate with her.

----------

Just because he knew today he was meeting his potential (not gonna happen) foster parents, it didn’t mean he was allowed to be present for the rest of the day. His favorite worker had come back again, motivating him to get ready and dressed, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to find the energy to even just put on a sweater, much less get himself completely ready.

Looking in the mirror hurt. His hair was starting to grow back, just barely long enough to run his fingers through, never mind getting anywhere long enough to cover his eyes like it used to. The bags under his eyes were darker than he could remember them ever being and his hands shook as he brushed his teeth. Biting down on the bristles, he grabbed a towel and threw it over the mirror, feeling a slight tinge of relief when he was no longer forced to look at himself. The social worker watched from the doorway, silently.

He was tempted to go to sleep when he was done, completely exhausted from the little bit of work. But she brought him breakfast and his stomach growled in agreement, so he ate enough of the oatmeal to satiate his hunger, and not a bite more. A nervous nausea was already swirling in his gut and he didn’t need to add to it.

“Would you like to be left alone?” She asked, taking the empty bowl.

Virgil nodded, already feeling the heaviness and emptiness that came with dissociation starting to creep through his limbs.

“I’ll come let you know when they’re here, okay?” He had no recollection of her leaving the room, but the next time he drifted back to the present, she was gone.

He took a nap around noon, too tired and overwhelmed to stay awake for any longer. Plus, with new rushes of anxiety flooding his system every couple seconds, he was ready to not be conscious for a hot minute. He tried to convince himself that it would be okay, he’d struggle through an awkward meeting where the foster parents would eventually give up on him and leave, and he could spend his remaining year and a month in the system. Hopefully in that year he could figure enough out to survive when he was alone.

A joyous child screeching downstairs woke him up three hours later, jerking him awake with a pounding heart.

It wasn’t an hour later when there was a soft knock at his door and he threw himself into the corner, pulling his blanket up to his chest. No, no, no, he wasn’t ready- The door opened painfully slowly, spilling the light from the hallway into his pitch black room.

“Virgil? I’m here with one of the foster parents, can I come in?”

She poked her head into the room and squinted to meet his eyes in the darkness, eventually finding his hunched form on his bed. Wordlessly, she opened the door all the way and walked up to him, flicking on the bedside lamp. A pleasantly soft light filled the room, illuminating the man standing at the door. Virgil began to shake.

He wasn’t overly tall, probably just a head or so taller than Virgil, dressed in a plain yellow button up and black jeans. At first, he didn’t seem too intimidating, but neither had the other family at first glance. When he walked into the room, just so he was less of a silhouette, Virgil eyes were drawn to the large burn scar covering the left side of his face, just a shade darker than the right, but the skin mottled and textured.

“Virgil, this is Janus Oakmen. His husband was unable to join him today, but-”

Husband? Virgil’s breath hitched. His husband, his husband, he’s gay, gay gay gay- His anxiety skyrocketed, and he couldn’t help the electric-like impulses that ran up his spine and out his fingers. He clenched his fist to hide the remaining twitches.

She seemed to stumble over her words, trying to hide her shock. To her luck, the man interrupted, smiling softly down at Virgil.

“I’d like to speak to Virgil alone, if he’s alright with that.”

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door,” She said hurriedly, rushing out and closing the door behind her. And they were alone.

Janus looked at him for barely a second before taking a seat on the bottom bunk on the other side of the small room, folding his hands on his lap.

“Technically, I asked if you were okay with it, but…” He gestured weakly to the door. “Oh, well. I was told you don’t talk, Virgil.”

He stared in response, wrapping his fists up in the blanket. The man gave a breathy chuckle, but there was no animosity behind it.

“That’s okay. Just wanted to double check. Is it okay with you if I just talk, then?”

No adult had ever asked Virgil for permission for anything twice in under a minute. His social workers kind of just did what they had to, and he’d never been in a home where that kind of thing was the norm. It was more ‘the kids ask for everything, and the parents get what they want, no questions asked’. Needless to say, he was taken aback.

He nodded weakly, realizing the man was waiting for a response.

“Fabulous. Ignoring all the boring details you wouldn’t care about, my name is Janus. Like, from mythology, not a PTA mom. I’m thirty-five, and my husband Logan and I have been fostering since we were twenty-two, so we know what we’re doing. We love it.”

Virgil slowly let his legs unfurl, stretching them out in front of him under the blanket.

“We actually weren’t intending to foster this year, since Logan is looking for a new job. His current one just made it necessary for him to travel more than he would like to, so we wanted to press pause until he was happy at a new one. And then we got a call from good ole Bev out there.” He waved at the door again, cracking a smile. “She told us a little bit of your story, and Logan and I instantly said yes. If you’ll have us, that is.”

The vague idea of “why?” crossed Virgil’s mind, and it must have translated to his face, because Janus continued.

“When I was fifteen, I came out to my parents as gay. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but they weren’t such big fans, and they put me in conversion therapy.”

His heart stopped. Another round of shocks through his arms.

“We can talk about that more another day, if you want. I know that’s a tough topic for you. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Because it doesn’t work,” He shrugged, an annoyed tone finding its way into his words, “I understand what you’re going through, to an extent. If anyone can help you, it’s us. I’ve been there. And I promise, we’re fiercely protective. We’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

He stopped, leaning forward on his hands. Virgil realized he probably couldn’t see him that well except for his outline, due to him being pressed into the darkest corner of the room. Despite every cell in his body screaming that it was a trick, he scooted forward into the light of the lamp, still shaking.

“There you are. Hello, Virgil.”

Virgil raised a trembling hand in a half hearted greeting.

“I know this is a big, terrifying thing to ask of you. And I’ll understand if you say no. But if you feel safe, we’d love to have you for however long you’re comfortable with. Would you like to think it over?”

He nodded immediately. It wasn’t the hard ‘no’ he had expected himself to feel, and that was more unsettling than it should have been.

“Okay. You do that. Take however long you need,” Janus said as he stood up, straightening his shirt, “It’s been great to meet you, Virgil.”

And he was gone. The social worker came back a short while later, but Virgil was completely gone by the time she did. He didn’t respond to her dinner calls, didn’t eat when the meal was placed in front of him, safely retreated into the silent part of his mind where he was safe from panic attacks and hard choices.

---

He said yes. Of course he did. He was far too intrigued by the man he’d met to refuse. He was scared shitless, that was a given; the first week after meeting Janus, he’d refused to leave his bed, refused to eat or shower or leave his huddle against the wall until the caretaker was basically pleading with him. Even then, it was a struggle to not throw up from sheer terror.

But his social worker must have seen the way he was giving in, yearning for a grasp of hope in equal parts as his fear, because she set about to convince him. Promised more thorough checks once a week, daily phone calls to keep in touch, and an immediate pick up the moment he was unsure. Bit by bit his resolve was broken, until he finally agreed to give it a try, rushing from her presence moments later to hurl his dinner into the toilet. Hopefully his nerves would relax over time.

The day came when he was to leave the group home, and he spent none of it in the present. He was so dissociated, so deeply embedded within his own mind, that he wasn’t even able to pack his belongings. His social worker was kind enough to do it for him (though the task itself took less than half an hour- he didn’t own that much) and he didn’t even notice she was in the room, talking, until his black garbage bag was placed on the bed in front of him.

“ -unresponsive like this all day. We’re not sure what to do.”

“No doubt a response to his overwhelming fear of being placed in a new home after the disaster of his previous one. May I speak to him alone?”

“Of course.”

“Want me to leave too, Lo?”

“No, Janus, you can stay. It may be nice to have your expertise in the subject lest it become pertinent.”

There was some shuffling at the very corners of his consciousness, the light from the hallways lighting up the divots of his rumpled clothing bag, and one of the people were gone. His bedside lamp was flicked on.

“Thank you, Janus.”

A weight on the bed was the first thing to really snap Virgil back to the presence, for the first time noticing the two men before him. The one standing, he recognized as Janus. The other sitting in front of him, though, he didn’t know. Virgil blinked rapidly, slowly pushing himself further back into his bed frame, despite how it dug into his shoulders.

“Hello, Virgil. My name is Logan. I take it you’ve met my husband?”

Janus shot him a soft smirk, copying Virgil’s little wave from when they’d first interracted. He barely restrained a rush of twitches, playing it off as a shuffle to rearrange his blanket.

“Do you think you could move forward just enough to place your feet on the ground? You don’t have to stand, just to begin the process of grounding?”

Virgil didn’t trust this guy for anything. He didn’t know his intentions, knew nothing about him, and his repressed mental state wasn’t making his cognitive reasoning any better. If Logan could help him ground, maybe it would be easier to figure out if they were trustworthy. Odd, that for this to work, he had to trust them enough to ground around them.

He scooted forward, letting his feet flutter off the bed and rest on the floor.

“Well done, Virgil. Press them to the floor firmly. Janus, do you have- ah, wonderful.”

Virgil looked up, nearly throwing himself back as Janus reached out a hand to him. There was something clutched in his fingers, but all the youngest could suddenly think was electrode electrode it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt you don’t let it touch you don’tletittouchyou DON’T!

“It’s just gum, Virge, it’s okay.”

Oh. His hand paused as he reached out for the offering, a new thought coming to mind. Should he trust food from strangers? What if they’d drugged it, like his old foster home? He bit his lip, slowly retreating back into himself.

The man seemed to see his hesitation, popping the piece into his mouth and offering one right from the package.

“I didn’t mess with it, I swear.”

He took the gum, recoiling at the harsh taste almost instantly.

“Yeah, it doesn’t taste great. But I chewed like a pack of this a day when dissociation was a bitch. Snaps you back to the present like-”

“Language, Janus.”

“I’m sure he’s heard worse.”

“That doesn’t mean we should encourage it.”

Virgil couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t seen just casual bickering in a long time.

“We brought one more bribe-”

“It is not a bribe-”

He outright snorted at Logan’s aghast tone, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Janus looked utterly pleased with himself, slowly handing over a bundle he’d had wrapped under his arm.

“Again, to help with grounding. And it’s a bit of a drive to our place, so maybe you can get some sleep in the car.”

It was a deep purple blanket, almost impossibly soft to the touch. Virgil couldn’t help run his fingers over the plush material, fighting the urge to just smash his face into it. Keeping an eye on the two, Virgil unfolded it and wrapped it tightly around himself, settling to just let his cheek rub against where it was draped over his shoulder.

It took another twenty minutes for him to feel able to walk without stumbling, but if he left the group home in a fuzzy blanket and starting to feel safer than he had in months, that was his to admit. And he wouldn’t… not yet.

-----------

Virgil stared down at the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand, re-reading his shitty handwriting for the millionth time. He knew it was proper grammar, and nothing was spelled wrong, and it was clear and concise, but a part of him was still nervous about the idea of giving it to Janus. He was still hesitant to speak, and his new foster family was more than accommodating, giving him a small white board to write on, and even teaching him the most basic sign language for simple questions (courtesy of Logan). One day, he hoped he’d get his confidence back enough to speak, but right now, he felt no rush.

Being surrounded with these new people, even for the three short weeks he’d been there, had already been enough to minimize his dissociating spells. Logan didn’t have to leave for another work trip for another week, and Janus worked from home anyways, so he was getting way more love and affection than he was ever used to. He hadn’t quite given in to Janus’ offered hugs, or any casual touch at all really, but he was getting used to one of the two just sitting with him for hours, covering him with weighted and fuzzy blankets, and gently distracting him with puzzles or that god-awful gum or just repeating where he was, and that he was safe. Was this what being loved was supposed to feel like?

So he trudged down the steps, hearing the shower running as he walked past the master bedroom, and slowly approached Janus at the dining room table. The man turned to greet him, giving him that soft smirk.

“Morning, kid. Happy birthday.”

Virgil smiled shyly, remembering the sign for thank you after a moment, and dropped the note onto the table next to Janus’ mug. He took a seat across from him, hiding his shaking hands in his lap, and watched with bated breath as he took the slip of paper and read it.

“‘How long did it take you to feel okay with Logan after CT?’ As in, feel okay dating a man?”

Virgil nodded and then, just for practice, signed yes.

“The short answer? Probably two years, and I was still hesitant going into the relationship. It took us a longer time to get to the comfort level we’re at now. You need to go at your pace, Virgil. You shouldn’t force anything.”

And then, as he tended to do when no one was there to fill the silence, he began to rant. This was also something Virgil was surprised he had come to enjoy, pulling up his feet so he could sit cross legged on the chair and setting his chin overtop his folded arms on the table.

“I think it’s ridiculous that our basic human rights are still up for debate,” Janus sighed, taking a long sip of his tea, “Soulmarks are more than enough proof that we have no control over who we love- not that we should need that kind of proof to be validated. But people are afraid of what they don’t know, so they portray us as monsters who need to be fixed.” He’d begun rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist and Virgil’s eyes tracked the movement, noticing for the first time the small compass that was just a couple shades darker than the man’s skin. It almost blended in, and he probably never would have noticed it, if the small needle in the center weren’t slowly rotating towards the stairs.

Logan entered the dining room from that direction, greeting his husband with a small kiss on the head and his foster child with a relaxed smile. He must have noticed Virgil’s occasional glance at the other’s wrist, wordlessly flipping over his own arm. His matching compass was pulling towards Janus’, an ever present symbol that they were meant to be together. Then, he patted his husband’s shoulder, going to get the coffee his husband always made for him.

“You’re not broken, Virgil,” Janus murmured. Virgil’s head shot up, surprised at his bluntness, “You’re not. And if anyone tells you differently, they’ll have to deal with me,” He said firmly as he took a long sip.

“No threatening, Janus!”

Virgil snorted into his fist, grinning as Janus winked at him and said, “Sorry, Logan,” into his mug.

“Incorrigible.” Logan sighed as he exited the kitchen with his coffee, dropping into the seat between the two. “And happy birthday, Virgil. Would you like to choose what we have for breakfast, or would you like us to decide?”

That was something they’d learned about him quickly; he had awful choice paralysis. Choosing between two choices was already anxiety inducing, but a variety of things, like having to narrow it down to one food item? Lethal. Virgil quickly pointed to Logan, who chuckled.

“French toast, then?”

Virgil nodded.

“I’ll get started on that in a moment. Janus, do you have his gift?”

“It’s in the living room, let me go get it.”

And that got his heart racing. ‘Gifts’ weren’t good things. They were leverage, blackmail, with a promise of a ‘returned favor’ in the near future. Virgil didn’t like things held against him like that. What if they gave him a present, and then demanded he pay them back for it the moment things weren’t peachy? Who was he kidding, he was in the honeymoon phase of this new foster family. It would take a month, like it did with the others, and then they’d find something about him that they hated and they’d force him to change it and he wouldn’t be able to refuse because they gave him food and shelter and above all, a gift on his birthday, and he would owe them a debt and he was stuck and-

“Virgil? What are five orange things you can see?”

His head popped up- when had he grabbed his hair like that?- and he noticed how heavily he was breathing. His foster parents were looking at him in concern, not pity, but legitimate concern for his well being (wack), Janus holding his hands behind his back. It was Logan that had spoken.

“Five orange things you can see, Virgil. You can just point.”

Don’t disappoint them more, his mind screamed, so he pointed at the far wall, near the entryway.

“The bridge on the calendar picture, very good. What else?”

Point through the pass through window into the kitchen.

“The sponge, well done. Three more.”

In front of Janus’ empty seat.

“The letters on the mug-”

Quick point to the book shelf in the living room.

“-and the book on my shelf. Last one?”

It took Virgil a longer moment before he found a cup of pens on the small coffee table behind the sofa, gesturing to the orange capped pen amongst the others.

“Wonderful. Are you feeling a bit better now?”

He didn’t respond, choosing to track Janus’ movements as he sat back into his chair, adjusting his hands so they were on his lap, most likely holding the gift he was hiding. Logan leaned against the couch as his husband spoke.

“Kid, I need you to understand something, alright? You don’t owe us anything. We want to give you a gift because it’s your birthday, and we want to celebrate you. This isn’t some favor that you have to return.”

How Janus understood Virgil’s distress, the younger could only guess. But his words of reassurance were enough to get Virgil to accept the wrapped package as he presented it with minimal shaking, for once demanding his brain relax. Neither of the men mentioned how delicately he unwrapped it, carefully tugging at the tape as to not rip the paper. Why risk it?

His mouth gaped when he saw the present for the first time, holding the box in a white knuckled grip.

“We were told yours was taken from you and never returned, and figured that you needed a new one,” Logan said.

It was the first new thing Virgil had ever gotten. His clothes were from thrift stores or hand downs, his school supplies consisted of a found pencil and a ripped binder from the group home’s storage, forget ever having his own computer or video games or…

“This is a phone!”

“That it is.” Janus was smiling, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea.

“I can’t- You can’t just- I don’t-”

“We can, and we did. You’re seventeen, you kind of need a phone just for everyday life. And unless you give us a reason not to trust you with it, we have no worries.”

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t-

Janus slid the tissue box across the table, but Virgil elected to ignore it, refusing to take his eyes off the box in his hands.

“Thank you,” he barely choked out, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, Virgil,” Logan responded for the both of them, returning back to the kitchen nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given Virgil more than he’d ever gotten in his entire life combined. “I’m going to start on breakfast.”

“I can help you set it up. Then you can download some music… maybe contact the soulmate of yours again.” Janus switched chairs so he was next to Virgil, careful not to touch him, and Virgil couldn’t help grinning blindingly up at him.

It would only be after breakfast that Virgil would realize that he’d spoken. It would be a longer journey until he’d be able to talk again effortlessly, but he was a step closer.

Part 4 HERE!

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unforth · 3 years

Text

So keeping in mind that I’ve literally already written a 40k Destiel fic inspired by Selena Gomez’s “Back to You,” today it came up on my play list and I started to think about ficcing it again, but this time Wangxian. It’s just such a ficcable song, I can’t even.

Like, a modern AU (set in the US) where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were once dating, and Wei Wuxian started making friends with “the wrong sorts,” and so Lan Qiren forced Lan Wangji to dump him. They part ways for a few years.

Lan Wangji never really recovers, and he perfunctorily dates the people his uncle sets him up with, and his life kinda stalls...not that there’s anything wrong with it, just...it’s always the same, the same places, the same people, the same work, the same wake up time, the same daily routine, the same bedtime. Sometimes he’s not sure which he misses more - Wei Wuxian, or the disruption to his life that Wei Wuxian represents. He almost wishes that Wei Wuxian has gone as “bad” as Lan Qiren was so, so sure he would, because then it would be proof - that stepping outside the box is not the way to a good life, that Lan Wangji made the right choices even if he’s not happy with them, that kind of thing.

Wei Wuxian also never really recovers, but instead of letting it get him down, he’s even more determined to prove that he’s so much more than what snobs like Lan Qiren thought of him - and so are the friends he made, who are of course Wen Qing and Wen Ning. They also have really had a tough time, with a lot of people assuming the worst about them because of their family connections. The three make a pact together - to succeed, no matter what it takes, and to help each other whenever one of them starts to struggle. And it works. Though they’re a little behind their peers - they all go to college, and they all finish their degrees, they all get advanced ones. Wen Qing becomes a doctor. Wei Wuxian becomes an engineer. Wen Ning becomes a vet. They get respectable jobs, if poorly paid because that’s the economy in 2020s USA, and they’re slowly building lives for themselves. No one from the circles his adopted family move in will associate with him anyway - he got kicked out for some of his youthful shenanigans, and though he’s in touch with his siblings, his “parents” won’t acknowledge him - but he doesn’t care. He knows he’s succeeding, no matter what they say about him.

(read more)

Though Lan Wangji never stops thinking about Wei Wuxian, he refuses to Google him or look him up. Fantasize about him? Yes. Wish his current SO was them? Yes. Occasionally scroll through Jiang Yanli’s friends list just to make sure Wei Wuxian is still there? Yes. But he doesn’t look him up, doesn’t friend him, doesn’t outreach. Why should he? Some regrets are normal, but he’s over it - he’s definitely over it.

Not that Wei Wuxian expected him to. Lan Wangji broke his heart, and it hurt - oh, it hurt so much, but Wei Wuxian is definitely over him. Who needs that asshole anyway? Wei Wuxian knows his worth, and he doesn’t need the affection of someone who cast him aside at the say so of his uncle. If he occasionally comes moaning Lan Wangji’s name...that’s a perfectly normal thing to do as regards someone Wei Wuxian hasn’t dated in a decade, right? Lan Wangji was, and presumably still is, hot as fuck, and Wei Wuxian has a healthy labido

Which is to say, neither of them is over it at all.

Still, their mutual pining might have never come to a head if not for Lan Wangji’s best friend - Jin Zixuan - getting engaged to Wei Wuxian’s sister Jiang Yanli.

And then, suddenly, after so many years, they’re in frequent contact again - helping with planning the wedding - and, well...

For Wei Wuxian, it’s infuriating. There’s Lan Wangji, still quiet, still distant, and sometimes when Wei Wuxian glances his way, he can swear that he caught Lan Wangji looking at him with resentment and regret, which - that’s some fucking bullshit right there, cause it’s not Wei Wuxian who ditched Lan Wangji, not Wei Wuxian who caved to family pressure. That’s all Lan Wangji - what’s Lan Wangji got to resent?

For Lan Wangji, it’s awful. Wei Wuxian is at least 8 times more gorgeous than Lan Wangji remembers him being, tall and lithe, his hair long, his affect casual. Despite the same air of nonchalance he always projected, though, now he’s like that but ALSO educated, successful, and self-made. Every bad thing Lan Qiren said would come to pass for Wei Wuxian is now proven a lie, and Lan Wangji feels wretched about it. Even worse, Wei Wuxian is clearly single - and “ready to mingle,” as Lan Wangji believes the phrase goes. Literally anyone who breaths, of any gender, is apparently fair game, and Wei Wuxian flirts constantly, especially with members of Lan Wangji’s friends circle. Mo Xuanyu? The poor guy never knew what hit him. Lan Jingyi? Is like eight years to young for Wei Wuxian, but that doesn’t stop him. Ouyang Zizhen? Lan Wangji is pretty sure Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know Zizhen’s name - or his age - but again, when did any reasonable objection ever stop Wei Wuxian? Luo Qingyang? She’s a lesbian for fucks sake, but she apparently doesn’t mind, and even flirts back, and Wei Wuxian is incorrigible.

Maybe Lan Qiren was right after all.

Wei Wuxian is determined to flaunt what Lan Wangji missed out on, loudly and publicly. Mo Xuanyu does make for a fun fling, and Lan Jingyi is a good kisser but they never get farther than that. Ouyang Zizhen is definitely too young - and he’s straight - but he laughs along when Wei Wuxian is outrageous, and they understand each other. And Luo Qingyang...Wei Wuxian suspects she knows exactly what the score is, and is maybe even helping him.

Helping him make Lan Wangji miserable, that is.

Wei Wuxian is definitely not looking to accomplish anything else.

Unless he can secure a Plus One to the wedding, ideally one who can join the wedding party and stand beside Wei Wuxian when he and Jiang Cheng give Jiang Yanli away.

Cause, oh, the look on Lan Wangji’s face, if he’s forced to spend the entire wedding facing Wei Wuxian and his date? Priceless, definitely.

Lan Wangji is determined to give Wei Wuxian the space to do...whatever it is Wei Wuxian is doing. Wei Wuxian always was a whirlwind, and Lan Wangji has never wanted to control him, never known how to keep up. Still, it galls to see Wei Wuxian flirting, and it hurts to see Wei Wuxian act indifferently towards him, and it aches to remember that, had things been different, Lan Wangji could have been on the receiving end of all those lovely, carefree smiles.

Rather than deal with the difficulty he has breathing whenever he’s in the same room as Wei Wuxian is in the room, Lan Wangji throws himself into the logistic planning of the final weeks leading up to the wedding. He coordinates vendors. He soothes ruffled feathers. He makes sure the caterers know literally everyone’s dietary preferences and restrictions. He works, and he works, and he works, and he tries to do nothing but work, but sometimes...

...Wen Qing will wander by, take over his spreadsheet, and tell him to go socialize...

...or Wen Ning will intercept the decoration Lan Wangji was moving, lift it surprisingly effortlessly, and tell Lan Wangji to join the main gathering...

...or Luo Qingyang will come and lecture him about how hiding is dumb and maybe he’d actually meet someone new if he tried.

As if Lan Wangji will get to meet someone new.

As if Lan Qiren will let Lan Wangji be with them, even if Lan Wangji did.

They’re trying to help, but he can’t figure out why. Wen Qing and Wen Ning especially are barely even his friends - but they’re closer to Wei Wuxian than anyone else in the world...Lan Wangji can’t fathom what they’re up to. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think they were trying to get him back together with Wei Wuxian? Which makes him think they don’t know Wei Wuxian half as well as they think they do, cause there’s no way that Wei Wuxian wants that - no way that Wei Wuxian wants him. Lan Wangji had his chance. He gets that.

(But, oh, it’d be nice to believe, even for a minute, even for a single dinner party, that maybe that would be something Wei Wuxian would want.)

But that’s impossible.

So Wei Wuxian flirts shamelessly.

And Lan Wangji hides behind duty and a stoic facade.

And the day of the wedding approaches - they get through the rehearsal dinner, the bachelor and bachelorette parties, the hangovers the next morning, all of it...and then it’s time.

Lan Wangji knows he should be watching Jin Zixuan, dressed in full Chinese traditional garb for an utterly Western style wedding, but instead he can’t keep his eyes off the opposite wedding party. Luo Qingyang is maid of honor, in a chongseom that makes no sense as either traditional Chinese or modern Western - and Jiang Yanli insisted on her brothers standing at her side, and so Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are both there.

In tuxedos.

A sharp contrast to the robes in muted colors that Jin Zixuan picked out for his wedding party.

And Jiang Cheng still has a look on his face like he stepped in something gross and is too dignified to wipe it off on the carpeting, but Wei Wuxian...oh, Wei Wuxian is so perfect, absolutely flawless, and his pleasure is so obviious and uninhibited. From the moment the tent flaps open and Jiang Fengmian walks his daughter, in full Phoenix robes and an elaborate golden head dress (a family heirloom, no less), Wei Wuxian only has eyes for his sister, and his joy for her is spectacular and makes Lan Wangji’s chest ache.

As the ceremony commences - Western secular, seriously, what, not that it’s a surprise, Lan Wangji helped plan it, but it’s still weird - Lan Wangji looses himself in the rhythm of non-religious liturgy and imagining that, had his life gone differently, how Wei Wuxian looks now might have been how he’d have looked on their wedding day.

He wants that so badly.

He so, so desperately wishes that could have been.

For once, Lan Wangji isn’t wrong about Wei Wuxian’s train of thought. He’s got eyes for no one but Jiang Yanli - well, and a small aside of imagining all the ways he’ll make Jin Zixuan regret ever being born, should he ever hurt her. The ceremony passes so quickly he’s amazed - usually he’s super impatient and antsy during events like this - but no, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s...and then it’s over, and he glances to the groom’s party, and he realizes...Lan Wangji is staring at him.

Reflecting back over the ceremony...Lan Wangji has been staring at him the whole time?

And seriously - what the fuck is up with that? What had Wei Wuxian done wrong this time? Was it the tux? Lan Wangji coordinated the rental, if he’d objected to the Western attire, he had plenty of time to say something. Was it the way Wei Wuxian was rocking back on his heels? As if Jiang Yanli didn’t know Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand still - as if she’d ever hold that against him! His mind scrambles through explanations, each more ridiculous and rude than the last...no matter what the reason is, he’s sure that his existence offends Lan Wangji, as it also offended Lan Qiren. If it didn’t, why would Lan Wangji have treated him so indifferently since they re-met?

(It definitely isn’t because Wei Wuxian has intentionally kept him at arms length, oh no, this - whatever this is - is absolutely entirely Lan Wangji’s fault.)

Still, now that he’s aware of Lan Wangji’s condemnation, Wei Wuxian can’t stop thinking about it. It preoccupies him all through agonizingly dull hour of taking group photographs in various places in the picturesque garden, and all through the brief period he actually gets to spend during the passed platter part of the reception - hors d’ouevres to tide the guests over while the family and wedding parties do the pictures - and all through the achingly dull meal. The food is good, Wei Wuxian supposes. The wedding has been nice, Wei Wuxian supposes. Jiang Yanli is elated, Wei Wuxian knows, and he’s delighted for her, but...somehow, the joy has drained out of the evening.

Fucking Lan Wangji - can’t behave himself for one fucking evening, he’s even going to ruin this for Wei Wuxian.

Fuck it - as soon as the meal is over, and the first dances done, and the reception switches from staid social affair to open bar dance party, Wei Wuxian resolves to get sloshed as fast as humanly possible. Anything to stop him from thinking so damn much.

Lan Wangji is one of a handful of designated drivers amongst the people in his generation - he’s expecting to do at least three runs back to the hotel, starting with the bride and groom, then all the Jin half-siblings, then probably the Jiangs, judging by how they’re behaving so far, and then...he doesn’t know, but he suspects there’ll be others. Looking around as the evening grows later, the music louder, and the dancing more raucous, he tries to do a mental tally, and realizes...something is wrong.

No, nothing is wrong...someone is missing.

Where’s Wei Wuxian?

Confused, Lan Wangji looks around again. Wei Wuxian had been dancing - with his sister, with his brother in law, with Luo Qingyang, with Mo Xuanyu, with the folks a half-generation younger like Lan Jingyi, with anyone or anyone, by himself...but no...Luo Qingyang is dancing with Wen Qing, if “intense dance floor frottage” can be considered dancing...and Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli are dancing together, and Mo Xuanyu is flirting with some guy Lan Wangji doesn’t recognize, and the half-generation younger folks are teasing some poor Jiang junior, and Wei Wuxian has been exuberantly present for much of the evening, and now he’s just...gone.

As drunk as Wei Wuxian appeared to be, that can’t be good.

So, concerned - just that Wei Wuxian is drunk and might have tried something dumb, like driving home himself, or gotten lost on the way to the bathroom, or needed to throw up, not about anything else, Lan Wangji is definitely not concerned about Wei Wuxian in any other respect - Lan Wangji goes in search of Wei Wuxian.

He checks around the outside of the tent - nothing.

He checks inside the venue’s main building - nothing.

He checks the bathrooms - nothing.

He checks the parking lots - nothing, and of course Wei Wuxian didn’t take a vehicle, he didn’t drive himself.

He checks everywhere he can think, as the night grows later and darker and the party proceeds and the oldest, most staid guests start to say their goodbyes.

Finally, tired, out of ideas, and disinterested in returning to the loud bright heat of the tent, Lan Wangji goes for a walk through the manicured grounds. Even in the dark of night, the place the Jin-Jiang’s chose is lovely. Scattered decorative lights cast barely enough light to navigate the lanes and paths, aided by a full moon and the occasional flicker of a firefly. There’s a koi pond in the center - they took a lot of pictures there - and a few stone benches around it, so Lan Wangji meanders in that direction. He can still hear the party. He’ll know when they need him. He really needs some time to himself - it’s all been too much.

He tries not to think too hard about what “it” actually refers to in that thought.

Nothing Wei Wuxian does diffuses the empty feeling in his chest; every drink, he feels worse. Every dance, he feels more like he’s putting on an act. His friends were starting to notice - Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing had exchanged a look and then rounded on him like they were going to pin him down and force him to...or try to force him to...talk about his ~feelings~, and so Wei Wuxian fled into the gardens, found a bench where he could listen to the soft sussuration of flowing water somehow audible over the thump of the bass, and breathe.

It’s been a long time since Wei Wuxian felt like he could breathe.

He still doesn’t feel like he can breathe.

Which is ridiculous, he knows, and he’s in the process of going into extensive internal detail of why it’s ridiculous when a damn ghost steps into the clearing around the koi pond...

...no, not a ghost...it’s Lan Wangji, cheeks pale from how much time he spends in doors, robes nearly white when their pale blue is washed out by the moonlight, hair raven falling about his shoulders. His headband frames his noble brow, and his corsage rains a trail of vining flowers over one shoulder like some strange epaulette, and oh, he’s gorgeous, and Wei Wuxian recognizes, to his horror, in that instant...

...he’s never, ever, ever been over Lan Wangji, and he never will be...

...and he’ll never, ever, ever get to be with Lan Wangji. Like, ever.

Lan Wangji is staring at him.

Fuck Wei Wuxian’s life.

“I’ll just...go...” Wei Wuxian mumbles.

The statement hangs heavy in the night air as Wei Wuxian rises, straightens his tux, heads toward the pathway that Lan Wangji just entered from...and then stops.

Because Lan Wangji has grabbed his forearm.

“Oh come on, man - what the fuck?” Wei Wuxian demands, yanking his arm away. “Look, I get it, I’m your least favorite person - well, the wedding’s done, you’ll never have to see me again if you don’t want. Is that what you want? Would that finally make you happy?”

He’s breathing hard by the time he stops talking, and Lan Wangji is still staring at him, and Wei Wuxian wants to flee - not to the tent, but to...literally anywhere...anywhere that Lan Wangji isn’t...except he can’t make his legs work, and he can’t seem to move, and Lan Wangji won’t. stop. staring. and then Lan Wangji opens his mouth, and it seems to be in slow motion, and is he actually going to speak, holy shit, Lan Wangji hasn’t said a word to Wei Wuxian since he said, “good bye” ten years ago, and then of all the fucking things to come out of Lan Wangji’s mouth, all he says is,

“No.”

“Wha...why...ho...WHAT?”

“You asked, ‘is that what I want? Would that make me happy?’ The answer is no, Wei Ying. That is not what I want. That would not make me happy.”

“Oh. Well. Fucking good for you.” Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying. He doesn’t know what the fuck Lan Wangji is saying. All he knows is that being there hurts, and he’s so damn tired of hurting, and Lan Wangji already destroyed him once...

...and I’d give anything for five minutes with him, even if I know he’ll likely destroy me again...

“What do you want?” asks Lan Wangji, like he actually cares about the answer, and Wei Wuxian can only goggle at him, because he was so so incredibly clear about what he wanted ten years ago - he even fucking asked Lan Wangji to marry him, said, “I’ll do anything, conquer any challenge - we can make this life together, Lan Zhan,” and Lan Wangji had just said, “Good bye,” and now, now, Lan Wangji wants to know what Wei Wuxian wants? What gives him the right? What gives him the entitlement? What gives him the audacity?

What makes him think anything Wei Wuxian wants has changed?

But Wei Wuxian can’t say that, can he...?

The silence stretches out between them.

Neither moves.

Neither speaks.

Fireflies flit around them.

Lan Wangji dreads Wei Wuxian answering, dreads him walking away, dreads losing this last precious moment they share, even though the tension of this moment is so awful that Lan Wangji fears it will break him.

“What would you say if...if I said that all I want...is all I’ve ever wanted?” whispers Wei Wuxian, like he’s terrified.

Lan Wangji has no idea why he’s terrified.

Lan Wangji has no idea what he means.

He asks with a raised brow, and Wei Wuxian laughs awkwardly. “Naw, I can’t do the ‘silent Lan act’ right now. Use your words, I’m fucking right out of here, okay?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try.” It’s ludicrously hard, but...for Wei Wuxain, Lan Wangji will always try, always regret that he didn’t try harder when he should have. “I...don’t understand. You say...what you always wanted. A degree. A found family. Your siblings at your side. A pet rabbit. An apartment with a bidet. A signed copy of ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.’ There were many things you said you wanted. I’m afraid I’m unclear which you mean.”

“You...you remember all that dumb shit I said back then?” Wei Wuxian sounds astonished. How can Wei Wuxian sound astonished? How can Wei Wuxian believe Lan Wangji would have forgotten a minute of those wonderful days - the best of his life?

“Mn.”

“Well, none of that shit’s what I mean. Got most of it anyway. Bidets are awesome. But Lan Wangj...Lan Zhan...”

His name, said in that sweet voice, causes a tingle to go down Lan Wangji’s spine.

“...all I’ve ever wanted was you.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw drops.

“And you told me to fuck right out of your life when I asked for that, so...fuck, what am I even still doing here?”

“Kissing me.”

“Wha--”

Lan Wangji interrupts Wei Wuxian’s confused exclamation with action - grapping Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. It’s rude, and inappropriate, and consent - what consent? - and Wei Wuxian doesn’t reciprocate but...oh well. Lan Wangji has already ruined his love life. At least he can have one kiss to remember fondly, to cherish, to--

--and then Wei Wuxian has an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving as one, and oh, it’s good - glorious - Lan Wangji could weep he’s so happy. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, shifting in the moonlight, lost in their embrace. Lan Wangji is breathless and growing dizzy, but he’s terrified to put space between them - what if this is goodbye? What if it’s just Wei Wuxian flirting, like he flirts with everyone? What if...what if...what if...

But finally, they do part, and scantly, bodies still close, embrace still maintained, faces inches apart.

“What’s going on, Lan Zhan?” asks Wei Wuxian weakly.

“I kissed you.”

“Yeah...got that part...but why...?”

“I know I’ve no right to ask this...but would you try again? With me? With us? Would you--?”

Wei Wuxian is kissing him again before Lan Wangji can finish the question.

Wei Wuxian can’t believe that’s a real question Lan Wangji has to ask - as if Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have taken Lan Wangji back anytime, at the drop of a hat, over the past decade.

(Okay, that’s unfair...Wei Wuxian’s actually been a huge dick about it...he knows Lan Wangji had no independent living, and relied on his family, and Wei Wuxian was just some aimless jackass, and, and, and...but it still stung that Lan Wangji wouldn’t throw all cares to the wind to be with Wei Wuxian, as Wei Wuxian would have done - had done - to be with Lan Wangji.)

But it feels dumb to dwell on that when Lan Wangji is in his arms, kissing him so eagerly, asking if he’ll try again.

Because of fucking course Wei Wuxian will try again.

“I don’t know what that means, Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji with obvious frustration.

Kiss.

“It means yes,” Wei Wuxian replies.

Kiss.

“Yes?”

Kiss.

“Yes.”

Kiss.

“Always?”

Kiss.

“If you’ll have me back...”

Kiss.

“As if I’d ever turn you down!”

Kiss.

“Already did once...”

Kiss.

“And regretted it endlessly.”

Kiss.

“Good. You deserved at least that much suffering.”

Kiss.

“Deserved it, and more.”

Kiss.

“I suppose I’ll forgive you, if...”

Kiss.

“Anything. Just tell me.”

Kiss.

Oh, Wei Wuxian has so many ideas, and he delights in teasing Lan Wangji with each and every one, whispered between husky breaths in to the cooling air, interrupting himself constantly to kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

They’re still making out by the koi pond when Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang come looking for the promised designated driver.

They don’t even consult - or consider interrupting - when they do find the two idiots locked in an embrace. As one, the ladies turn, exchange a silent, smug high-five, and pull out their phones to order Ubers.

They can pay for rides for the Bride and Groom and family members and other drunken party goers.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have a lot of catching up to do.

(and done)

(oops, this got long)

(and yes, this is absolutely a mash up of a modern AU with the lyrics to “Go Back to You” with a healthy dose of the plot of Jane Austen’s “Persuasion.”)

#unforth writes #the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #modern au #background ships #idek here have a pile of words

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houseboatisland · 3 years

Note

Is Elizabeth on your island, and if so how has she adjusted after decades abandoned?

She is! And here's my headcanon for her:

Topham Hatt I, (The Fat Director,) had by 1926 accumulated a small fortune as General Manager of the North Western Railway. Reputed as a workaholic, (or boss-aholic,) Topham had sunk considerable amounts of money into his sprawling Wellsworth estate, Topham Hall. Topham was inspired by the undertaking of his sometime friend Sir Robert Walker, the Baronet of Sand Hutton. Walker's estate utilized war surplus one foot and three inch gauge locomotives to carry distinguished guests, agricultural produce, and coal to and bricks deriving from the nearby brickworks of Claxton.

The resulting pet project, the Topham Hall Railway, is where Elizabeth's story begins.

The T.H.R. was laid to what had essentially become the Sudrian "standard narrow gauge," of two feet and three inches. The line started from its Exchange Siding with Wellsworth Station, and made several crossings through the streets of that town's suburbs, before reaching the estate grounds. Hall Station brought passengers within a stone's throw of the mansion itself. Moving on, the line dove into the woods through a magical tree tunnel, with a spur at its opening for the engine and carriage shed. Crossing a brook over a three-span wooden trestle bridge, another station and a few sidings known as "Orchard Station" served the fruit and vegetable orchard. Another mile or so, and the railway stopped again for "Bowler's Station," where the Hatts and any guests could detrain for the estate's cricket pavilion.

Another half a mile, and the railway terminated at the Wellsworth Brickworks. This had been a puny operation before the THR linked up with it, employing only three men or so. After the railway's arrival, it expanded to employ a few dozen, and three more kilns were added. Throughout the Great Depression, Topham kept the Brickworks open and its employees onboard out of his own pocket, even as the bricks accumulated unsold. This was far more humanitarian than his treatment of NWR employees and three of his engines!

The railway had one locomotive, a royal purple Kerr Stuart 'Tattoo' class, named "Little Barford," technically a brother of the Mid Sodor Railway's No. 4, "Stuart." Little Barford arrived also with several v-tipper wagons, a dozen ex-War Department bogie wagons, four-wheel trucks and two ambulance vans. The ambulance vans were thoroughly rebuilt by the estate's woodshop to become an elaborate passenger coach, and a "Dining Car," which was quite identical save for the fewer seats and teeny gas cooker. The passenger coach saw constant use, but the Dining Car mostly sat in the siding at Bowler's Station as it cooked. The line was so short, it never could've done more than boil an egg while moving to timetable!

Capping off this complement of rolling stock was one Sentinel DG4 "Overtype" Steam Lorry, quickly named Elizabeth, after the Duchess of York's newborn daughter. Elizabeth was absolutely coveted by Topham, though he wasn’t exactly a steady hand at the wheel. Elizabeth was kept polished to perfection, even when her work involved carting such grubby loads as soil, clay, and coal. She was in every respect a "father's princess," but she worked dutifully and loved Little Barford like a twin brother. She also learned from her Victorian old master her favorite catchphrase, "We are/are not amused!" depending on the context.

The Second World War began in September 1939, and this national shift in priorities turned Elizabeth’s devil-may-care youth on its head. The Wellsworth Brickworks shuttered as many of its men volunteered or were called up, and housing construction all but ended. Little Barford was kept on at the Hall as the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries set to increase production on Topham Hall’s farms. Elizabeth on the other hand was, for the first time, moved away from her only home. As the civilian petrol rationing situation tightened, and private motoring was eventually banned, Elizabeth was suddenly very valuable as a coal-fired road vehicle.

She was commandeered and relocated to Tidmouth Harbour, working night and day as a dockside lorry. This was a very stressful period for her, for she was utterly friendless and out of her element. Although Sodor was never bombed, the routine blackout drills and stories of other ports destroyed, such as Liverpool, took their toll on her mentally. At some point however, she "bucked up." Elizabeth realized she was no longer an aristocrat's toy. For all she knew, Topham had probably forgotten her. As the military lorries she came face to face with daily were almost all of the internal-combustion type, who was to say that when, if ever the war was over, that he'd want her back if he remembered her?

In these circumstances, Elizabeth adopted her more familiar, stiff-upper lip personality. There was no time for polish or quaint little rides to the cricket pavilion, there was a war on! She became grubby, and liked to be grubby. She worked like the devil, and loved that even more. Her posh accent never left her, but she was now in every respect out to be a working girl. Elizabeth would never admit it to herself, but this huge change of self owed much to her upset at being removed from her only home. Did she legitimately like being a working lorry, rather than an estate owner's princess? Certainly she did. Was it an easy and completely voluntary change of character? Of course not. But it was done, and Elizabeth spent many nights assuring herself that it was the right path, the only path to have taken.

1945, the end of the war. Everyone was so jubilant. Elizabeth was cleaned and polished like a crown jewel, decked out with flags and bunting, and allowed to participate in the Tidmouth Victory Parade. In several colour newswreels of the event, you can spot her amid the cascade of tickertape and throngs of soldiers, nurses, longshoremen, civilians, tanks and lorries. It was no doubt a fun day for her, but now she thought a great deal about the future.

The war, which had been everything to her for six years, was over. Soldiers were being demobilized and coming home. Industries were retooling for the postwar world, to make consumer goods rather than several airplanes an hour. The Attlee Government, in conjunction with the devolved Sudrian Parliament established in 1946, had a grand vision for The Mainland and Sodor, where the welfare state for the long-suffering people and machines was vastly expanded, their jobs would be increasingly unionized and their bosses answerable to them, rather than the other way around.

Despite the historically harsh winter into the New Year of 1947, Sudrian workers, bouncing back much quicker than their Mainland counterparts, were delighted with PM Attlee's "New Jerusalem." Tidmouth Harbour was still very busy, as Sodor's biggest gate in and out for the world, and Elizabeth kept calm and carried on as time marched on. She was much busier than she had first feared, and that winter was her time to shine as so many petrol lorries were out of commission with "head colds." Elizabeth convinced herself, somehow, that these thousands and thousands of war surplus petrol lorries wouldn't take over. If so many had taken ill in these conditions, maybe Sodor, or even the whole world, would consider turning back the clock and restoring steam to the roads completely.

She feared and resented petrol lorries something terrible. When the petrol ration which had enabled her life all this time, was finally ended, she was heartbroken. Every worry she had seemed to come to pass all at once. First, the Tidmouth Harbour Authority decided it would be much cheaper to stack its fleet with war surplus lorries, and she was out of a job. Her next owner, a furniture mover, didn't keep her long, and neither did the next, a man who planned to fit her out as a bus and ran out of money.

By 1956, when the now-knighted Sir Topham Hatt I had died, Elizabeth had already been accumulating dust in a shed for two years. She never saw her last owner, who by now had failed to pay rent on her storage. Anopha Quarry, who owned the tumbledown little shack, seized her to make up the difference, but never once came to inspect the lorry who was now their property. Eventually, the Quarry forgot about her too.

It wasn't until 1961, when a little blue puffer deputizing for Toby on the Quarry Tramway carelessly had a coupling rod failure, that she reemerged. She made a heartstopping journey down the line for the necessary spare rod, pins, oilpot and tools in Ffarquhar Sheds, where she stirred up quite a scene, before an even more uncomfortable journey back. Elizabeth's Sentinel heritage thankfully preserved her for the whole ordeal, when Thomas' Driver, then at her wheel, worried that she'd explode and take him with her.

Back into the shed she went after this good deed, for how long, if ever to come out again, she didn't know. Until of course, that same night, a man very like her old Master, named Bertram just like his son whom she had given so many rides through the orchards and to cricket games, came to make a visit...

You can guess the rest :3

Sir Bertram Topham Hatt I was reunited with his childhood friend, and his father's favorite lorry. He immediately sent for her with his own money to be restored, and at once moved her back to Topham Hall, where she was herself reunited with the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had, Little Barford, who this whole time had been working as well as ever, and wondered why no one had ever gone to look for Elizabeth despite all his questions. It had been assumed, wrongly, that Elizabeth had perished on war service. That's how the Tidmouth Harbour Authority wrote it, after they pocketed her sale money! (Sir Bertram was LIVID not to get his hands on the now deceased Harbourmaster responsible.)

Elizabeth is now back to her childhood home hauling farm produce and any visitor willing to get dirty, for she still insists on carrying a bit of grime as a testament to her labours. The Wellsworth Brickworks has reopened, on a much smaller scale, as a "living museum," and Elizabeth takes great joy in carrying clay and coal again. Her, Little Barford, and Sir Bertram are now tighter than they've ever been, and Sir Bertram is the only man allowed to polish her. He's a much more sedated force at the wheel than his father, she notes, and quite often!

We ARE amused to see her <3

#ttte #ttte elizabeth #ttte the fat director #topham hall railway #ttte little barford #ttte worldbuilding #ttte thomas #ttte oc: sir bertram hatt i #tw death

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jelly-pies · 3 years

Text

Dancing From Now On

Read on AO3

Pepper remembered their first dance. Contrary to public knowledge, it had not been at the annual Stark Industries gala.

Tony and Pepper's first dance took place months before that, alone at the mansion, late after a long day of work. The music had been Pepper's idea, to relax. But the dance had been Tony's.

"Getting better, Potts." Somehow cheerier than usual, he spun her slowly around the workshop. "Nobody will ever know you had two left feet. Hardly believe it myself, if my toe wasn't still throbbing."

Pepper huffed. "Not all of us could afford dance classes, you know."

"Well, it's not that hard, see? We're just swaying." Tony pulled her in, an inch closer, meeting her eyes. And for one moment, Pepper was purely dancing with the friend she was secretly in love with—not the boss who depended on her, or the playboy whose one night stands she escorted out of the mansion every few weeks. Just Tony. "Just dancing."

Their casual flirting was one thing. But this was getting dangerously close to something else—so Pepper ended the moment. JARVIS stopped the music, and when Pepper looked back after collecting her things, Tony suddenly looked away as if he'd been caught staring.

Maybe he had.

"So, you're good?" Tony asked casually, hands fiddling with some tools he picked up. "No stumbling over anybody's feet at the next gala?"

"We're good." Pepper matched his light tone. "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"You're very welcome, Ms. Potts."

"And Tony... " She paused at the door. Did she imagine that expectant look he sent her way, or was it just the lighting? "Um… that contract you still have to look over. Don't show up tomorrow without it."

"Which one?"

"Tony."

He chuckled. "I got it. Have a good night."

Maybe it was just the lighting.

"Good night," Pepper answered, and exited the room with deliberate steps.

She turned back before the landing. Tony was facing away, bringing up holo-screens, flexing his hands—and suddenly she remembered the feel of those calloused fingers against her own, drawing her closer.

Tony looked up. Pepper turned away, determined not to be caught staring.

But maybe she had.

Pepper remembered their first dance. And she remembered how it led to much, much more.

Their second dance, that one was at the Stark Industries Firefighter's Family Fund benefit. A backless blue gown, a little banter, an almost-kiss on the roof. Another moment Pepper ended before anything could begin, even though she half-wished something would begin—had been wishing it those dreadful three months of Tony's disappearance.

As Tony left to get them drinks, Pepper turned away to hide a growing blush. She didn't see the way he looked back at her from the door.

Tony reentered the building, and didn't see the way Pepper looked after his retreating back, either.

Years later on another rooftop, after a disastrous Stark Expo, the kiss became real.

They even had a witness, who deadpanned, "You guys look like two seals fighting over a grape."

Tony put his arm around her as they faced Rhodey, and Pepper couldn’t help thinking how that gesture must make them look like a real couple. She found she didn’t mind. All of a sudden, plans of her resignation as CEO didn't seem so urgent.

Tony turned back to her as soon as Rhodey left and challenged, "How are you gonna resign if I don’t accept?"

Pepper laughed, letting the action release her anxiety and near-death stress and girlish romance. "I…" And Tony was leaning close. She stopped him with a finger on his lips. "Tony, if I don't… we can’t…"

"Come on, it’s us. We’ll figure something out." And there was that look again. Pepper wasn’t so quick to blame the lighting this time. "Ms. Potts?" Tony took both her hands. "Pep?"

It was too late to stop this moment, and Pepper knew it. But the doubt must have still shown on her face because Tony took one look and continued, "Remember when we danced? The first time, Malibu? You crushed my toes about a hundred—"

"Please let that go."

"—but we made it work."

Pepper took a breath. "We did."

Tony smiled, eyes shining—that's how Pepper could always tell if his smiles were real. She could also tell that both of them were done holding back… whatever this was.

"We are pretty good at dancing," Pepper replied.

Tony couldn't see her face as they embraced, but if he did, Pepper was sure he could tell her smile was real, too.

A private night at Stark Tower after the New York attack, that was the third dance. Or fourth, or fifth, maybe. Pepper wasn't sure she needed to count anymore.

She was only sure of two things. Swaying together in their home, with JARVIS playing soft music overhead, her arms around the love she had almost lost—and had accepted she would come close to losing, over and over again, for the sake of saving the world—Pepper was only sure of these: that she wanted herself and Tony to have a thousand more dances to come.

And that she could never know which one would be their last.

They danced that night on yet another rooftop, after the events with the Mandarin.

They didn't dance after Ultron.

Or for several months after that.

But the next time Pepper and Tony finally held each other in their arms, they held on tighter, and neither let go for a long, long time.

This wasn't how Pepper imagined it, for several reasons.

Tony’s smile was different. There was a sadness in them that lingered like ashes, but he smiled anyway, holding her close—which was a feat with Pepper's growing belly, but they made it work.

There were fewer guests. Several seats they left vacant on purpose, scattered around the lakeside like lonely souls. Some people held the belief they were there, in spirit, and that's what mattered. Pepper wasn't so sure; pure sentimentality had prevailed on her to leave the seats out.

Apparently sentimentality ran high this evening. The band played the song she and Tony had first danced to, oh so long ago, in a mansion long since blown to bits, by an AI, a friend, long since gone.

There was no publicity in what had once been anticipated as the event of the decade. A single ray of sun through gray clouds instead of all-around sunshine, in what was supposed to be the happiest day of Pepper and Tony's life.

But the people they loved—those that were left—celebrated with them, and that was enough. A simple reception at their new house, and the wedding was over.

After the lake grew quiet and the stars came out, the newlyweds slow-danced through the night, just the two of them.

This wasn't how Pepper imagined their new life would start. But start it did, with a dance.

"Getting better, Potts," Tony whispered beside her temple, their heads pressed together.

"Not so hard without the floor length gown. I know that was my idea, but God, don’t let me do anything like that ever again."

Tony chuckled and spun her slowly until she faced away, then wrapped his arms around his wife, their four hands interlocking on top of her belly.

Pepper had long lost count of their dances. But she knew this was one she would always remember.

It was Tony who broke the silence. "You guys still here? Scoot."

Pepper turned where he was looking: Rhodey’s wedding presents on the mantelpiece, staring at them—two plushie seals. And she laughed. Tony could always make her laugh.

“Fighting over a grape?” Pepper recalled.

“I never really got that image, to be honest.”

“Hm.” She turned back to Tony, cupped his cheek, and leaned in. “Let’s see about that.”

"That’s it! You’re doing it!" Tony spun their daughter around until the song ended, and Morgan collapsed in giggles on the floor. Tony scooped her up and tickled her with his stubble, making the giggling grow louder.

"Dad!" Morgan laughed. "Mommy, save me!"

Pepper swiftly rescued the toddler, only to drop her on the couch and blow raspberries on her stomach a second later. "In this house—" another tickle, and Morgan squealed— "nobody—escapes—dancing!"

Morgan finally succeeded in pushing her away as FRIDAY started the next upbeat song, and soon all three were back on their feet.

“Not that it's a competition.” Tony walked in. “But she loves me three thousand.”

“Oh, does she?”

“You were somewhere on the low… six to nine hundred range.”

Tony could always make her laugh.

Even the night after the Avengers came to visit. The night their new life, that Pepper knew in her heart could never last long, started to melt away.

Tonight there was no music, no dancing. Only the crackle of the fireplace, the weight of the future, and Pepper’s words hanging in the air— "But will you be able to rest?"

Tony didn’t answer her. He didn’t need to.

But Pepper held his hand, and Tony kissed her cheek. And when they finally went to bed, they held each other tighter.

Tony held her hand, and Pepper kissed his cheek. "You can rest now."

Tonight there was no dancing.

Two cylindrical compartments stood along the garage wall, one of them forever to be empty. In the other, Pepper put her Rescue suit away by herself. Crossing the room, her fingers couldn't help lingering over Tony's reserve helmet—Tony's desk—Tony's tools—Tony's presence. She could always feel it in his workshops.

Their first dance had been in his workshop.

The memory jolted her, pulling Pepper's eyes back to the last gift Tony left: her Rescue suit slumped in its compartment, looking as battered as she felt. Pepper remembered what it was like to take the suit to battle. To fight side by side with her husband, gauntlets firing in sync, guarding each other's back. A team to the end.

Did that count as a dance? Because otherwise, Pepper realized, she didn't remember the last time she and Tony danced.

She remembered their first, though—would always remember it. JARVIS’s song, their wedding song, strained in her ears—she could almost feel Tony's calloused fingers around hers—dancing in his workshop late at night.

But in this workshop, on this night, Pepper could only cry.

Pepper still danced.

She danced with Rhodey, and they leaned on each other, the way they had learned to do long ago.

She danced with Happy, bouncy little head bangs as they cooked Christmas dinner together, and for a moment the house was full of music again.

She danced with Peter, years later at his wedding, whispering "We’re so proud of you" in his ear.

She danced with her daughter. Morgan always pulled her to her feet whenever a lively song came on the radio— "In this house, nobody escapes dancing!" And they laughed. And they danced.

Pepper still danced. Just not with the one person she most wanted to dance with again.

When years had passed, and Morgan was grown, and the house was quiet most hours of the day, Pepper developed the habit of sneaking out on the balcony on clear nights, and looking up at the stars.

Some of her favorite dances with Tony had taken place under the stars. Like the rooftop. And their wedding.

Pepper didn’t remember which dance had been their last. But she remembered the first. And the second. And the thousands that came after that. Maybe that was enough.

In the quiet of the lake house, with only the strains of their wedding song echoing in her ears, and the stars above her, forever her witness—Pepper danced.

- "Ang Huling El Bimbo (The Last [Dance])," The Eraserheads

Lahat ng pangarap ko'y bigla lang natunaw

Sa panaginip nalang pala kita maisasayaw

(All of my dreams are suddenly gone

Only in dreams can we dance from now on)

#THIS IS ENDGAME COMPLIANT BTW #pepperony #pepper potts #tony stark #mcu #fanfic #angst #character death tw #did I have 3+ other wips I started first and wanted to finish first? yes #did I dump my endgame feels on this angsty one-shot instead? also yes #jelly's

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